Family
by SignsofSam
Summary: AU. Dean's family has always been a nightmare...more specifically, his nightmare. When the tides turn and he's forced into a new family and a new life, will he see that family is more than the bad thing that goes bump in the night?
1. Chapter One: Broken

**Title: **Family

**Author: **SN Brown

**Rating: **T (strong T for this chapter); violence and foul language doth occur within the chapter

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters from _Supernatural_ and shall return them when I'm done…maybe

**Word Count:** ~3100 words

**Summary:** Dean was surly, angst-ridden, and he was having a hard time assimilating into his new world, wasn't sure where his place was or how he should be acting

**Author's Note:** New story! _I throw my hands up in the air sometimes, sayin' aye-oh, baby let's_….no? Okay then. I've been tooling around with this idea for most of my summer, and have four chapters awaiting you. It's definitely AU, definitely, very, very AU, with OOC John (most definitely) and to the lesser extreme Bobby and Dean.

**Also**, I am _not_ a doctor, so my info comes from websites on the internet in between studying for school and work. Therefore, take all my medical info with a grain of salt!

Otherwise, enjoy, and please, please, please review. The last story didn't get all that many reviews, and I think that discouraged me from posting for awhile (because I'm selfish, and self-conscious, and mean ), so any reviews are greatly appreciated (and might get a cookie of your choice).

**One: Broken**

He hated the dark, cold, confined space that they held him in when his training went bad. He hated this punishment worse than the beatings, worse than the sacrificial cutting, worse than the humiliating times he was forced to spend outside, chained to the house, to strengthen himself, his father said.

Nothing compared to the nothingness of the small closet. He couldn't see, he didn't know how time passed-all he knew was the darkness and the thoughts and the questions about _why_ he couldn't do anything right.

He should have been quicker in slaying the monster. His father tried to tell him that, tried to show him that, but he was constantly misbehaving.

_If only you could do things right!_ his mind screamed at him. _You have to help save the world, and you suck at it!_

Soon, he knew, his father would come with the switch and the belt and the knives and he would show Dean the error of his ways. He would beat him into submission, until he saw his mistakes, and he would carve the ruins in Dean's skin to keep him safe from evil.

Dean understood that this had to be done. He understood that the world was slowly failing, and that his father-and those like him-were humanity's last hope. Dean understood that the symbols that now scarred his skin protected him from the evils that would enter him, and he knew that behind every scar was a lesson he had learned well.

Dean wished he was the son his parents deserved. He wished that they would acknowledge his successes, but his disappointments were so numerous that his parents could only see them.

He didn't know how much time had passed before the door opened and his father's hulking shadow appeared in the light, his savior coming to rescue him from the error of his ways. Dean dragged himself to his feet, following his father into the living room, where his mother waited, her harsh glare making Dean shiver involuntarily.

"You have disappointed me again, my child," his father bellowed, and Dean nodded, willing the tears not to fall as he removed his shirt.

His back was littered with black bruises, new cuts, and old scars, and he presented it to his father as the man raised the heavy wooden switch.

He winced when the first strike landed on already swollen and sore shoulders. The tears fell on the second strike.

His mother was watching his face, and he knew the minute the tears began that he would be going back into the closet. Tears were for wimps and little girls, not men meant to save the world.

The hits lasted for nearly an hour, each one progressively worse than the previous one, and Dean's back was on fire by the time the punishment was complete. He knew the worst was yet to come, knew that the symbols would have to be carved deep to be effective.

There was a fresh line of them on the nape of his neck, and he jumped when his father dug in there, continuing the line he had started the day before. Dean could feel the blood pool in the shallow cuts his fingernails made in the palm of his hands, and he could also feel the white hot pain of the knife being dragged through skin and muscle.

He felt every mark being made, every slice in his skin. He felt the burning tears falling down his cheeks, felt the red flush of embarrassment when his mother _tsked_ and rolled her eyes at his tears, muttering something in Latin to his father.

"Look at me, boy," he father yelled, and he jerked his head up, but the pain forced his head down again. His father gripped his hair, pulling his head up. "_Veneratio mihi!_"

"I am!" Dean cried, trying to escape, feeling the knife claw up his neck. "Please!"

His father pushed him to the ground, smashing his steel-toed boot into Dean's side. "You ruined it! You ruined _my_ masterpiece! You ruined _your _protection!" The older man screamed, kicking Dean over and over and over again. He whimpered the first time, curling as tight as possible, but then stayed silent. "You're no good! You're _ruined_."

He woke in the closet to the sound of a girl screaming. His breath came in strangled gasps, but the girl's screaming distracted him from any pain.

She sounded young.

Her cries had faded into pleas of "no"s and "please"s, and her voice made him think that she was ten or so. He stood slowly, wobbled unsteadily, but reached for the door as the screams erupted through the house again. He turned the knob of the door, surprised that it gave-his parents must have been too busy with their enemy to lock the door-and opened it a fraction of an inch, letting light bathe him.

Just as his father taught him, he looked both ways before opening the door farther, grimacing at the creak it made. "Just shut up," he whispered to the inanimate object, eyes peering sharply each way again as he took another step towards the screams.

What could a little girl have possibly done to convince his parents that she was _possessed_? _Evil_? How could they be so confused?

He knew they would be in the back room, in the room where the training took place, where the carvings took place. He knew that room by heart, knew every inch of it. He knew that there was a chair in the corner fitted with restraints, knew that because he had practiced on many possessed people in that chair. "Your screams cannot be heard, demon," he heard his mother scream, and the sick sound of skin hitting skin that made the girl cry out made him wince.

The girl was his age, maybe younger, her face bloodied, her dark blonde hair dirty and matted; she must have been held out in the barn before his parents brought her here. She had moisture on her face, tears, and he wished he could tell her that crying just made it worse.

"There you are," his father's voice called out, and he froze, tense, realizing that he had been spotted. "Come here."

He obeyed quickly, scurrying into the room with a quickness his parents had taught him. He stared at the girl, at her eyes that begged him to help her, that begged him to see that she was just an innocent girl.

Her eyes weren't black. She wasn't possessed…

"Hurt her, Dean," his father said, shoving the hunting knife in his hand. "It's iron, and the demon will be exorcized."

"Dad, she's not possessed-" Dean murmured, wincing when his father jerked him. He lifted the knife in his hand, feeling the weight, and looked at the girl again.

"Please," she whispered, tears falling. "I'm just a girl-I'm not possessed, I promise. Please."

He leaned forward, pressing the knife against her chest, his eyes never leaving hers'. He drew a line across, watched it fill with blood. "Trust me," he mouthed, and she bit her lip as the pain came. He drew another line, careful about how deep he went. "I'll get you out of here."

She winced again, but he could _tell_. She was _acting_. He gripped the knife tightly, twisting it in his hand, and closed his eyes. "God forgive me," he whispered, raising the knife as if he would plunge it into her chest. He twisted on the balls of his feet, slashing at his mother-she was closest, and he knew his father would go to her first before coming after him. That would give him enough time to get the girl free.

He heard her scream, but he focused solely on the girl, using the knife to slice the ropes restraining her. "Go!" he yelled, pushing her towards the front door before turning again to face his father. He whimpered as his shoulder smacked into the edge of the wall, ducking and jabbing his elbow in his father's kidneys. "She wasn't a demon!" he yelled at the older man. "You tried to kill an innocent person!"

He fumbled for a better grip on his knife, tripping past his father as the man moved in, the intent to kill. Dean followed the girl, nearly pushing her as they hurried to the door. "Go towards the barn," he told her as they made it to the deck. "You're going to have to hop a fence."

"Thank you," she breathed out as they ran.

"You don't want to thank me yet," he answered, pushing her again. "Move! C'mon, we've got to move!"

He could hear the heavy footsteps of his father on the deck and he held back, twisting and crushing his palm against his father's jaw. His father grabbed him on the way down, and he saw the girl stop, wide eyes. "Go!" he yelled, and she nodded, leaving him.

"I'm going to teach you, boy," his father snapped, jerking him up. "You will respect me!"

Dean shuddered, and watched the girl disappear into the woods, hoping she would make it back to her home safely.

Detective John Winchester had been on the force for twelve years, and knew what to expect. He knew how these oddballs worked, how they thought, knew how they could twist something precious and innocent into something horrific. He knew how they could make a fourteen-year-old boy maim an innocent girl, and he knew how those kids could get lost in the system.

He was the first one to the small compound on the outside of town, the place where the good Samaritan had picked up little Lindsay Harper. The property was large, sprawled out on a couple hundred acres with old buildings littering the clean landscape.

"Remember, there is a child inside. Be careful who you point that gun at," crackled through his ear piece, and John nodded to himself, joining the SWAT team at the front door, making sure his vest was secure in the final moments before they took the battering ram to it. He twisted his wedding ring, his good luck charm, and nodded at the lead SWAT, then his partner on the other side of the team.

The inside of the house was dark, dated, with minimal furniture. There was a slight staircase, rickety and steep, but John ignored it, heading for the back room, where the girl had said she had been held.

Lindsay Harper was twelve, a little older than his son, Sam, and he couldn't imagine how parents could mistreat their son, as Lindsay had said the poor kid was. She had told him about the blood she saw trailing down his back, about how she had turned momentarily when she was running and saw the father smashing his son's face into the ground.

The back room was empty, though John could see the stain of blood on the ground, the broken chair tossed haphazardly in a corner, and a bottle of half-drunk whiskey sitting precariously on an end table. He saw an opening on the other side of the wall, and he carefully stepped towards it, hearing muffled noises from inside.

He waited until his partner was beside him, covering him, and he entered, gagging at the putrid smell of the rotting food that covered the kitchen.

There was a closed door at the end of the galley kitchen, and his partner headed for it. John mouthed off the numbers _ one…two…three_, and then twisted the door and pulled it open, turning so he could look into the room.

His gun dropped when he saw the body, a woman, her face meticulously cleaned, a healing cut scabbed over on her face. She smelled heavily of booze, and she looked like she had passed out in front of the linen closet, as the door was opened just a bit. "Cuff her and let's get her out," his partner whispered, and he nodded, handing over the cuffs to Bobby. Together, they lifted her, carrying her through the kitchen to the back room where paramedics could attend to her.

They turned back to the linen closet, John kept his gun trained on the door while Bobby opened it.

A staircase disappeared down into darkness. John glanced at his partner, grabbing his flashlight and turning it on.

There was another body at the bottom of the staircase…a fragile body of pale skin, blood pooled under it. "Dean?" John called, rushing down the steps despite his partner's protests.

The kid groaned, twisting slightly in his fetal position, but not moving. The stairs led to a small cellar, most of which Dean was occupying, but John checked before crouching beside the kid, pushing his too-long brown hair from his eyes before checking on his pulse. "Open your eyes for me, son."

Blue flashed up at him, and John smiled, trying to ignore the blood and bruises and cuts. "Who…who are you?"

"My name is John Winchester; I'm here to help you."

Dean coughed once, a strangled whimper coming out as he tried to curl into himself to keep the pain at bay. "Hurts."

"We've got paramedics here, Dean. We've got to get up the stairs. Can you walk?"

Dean pushed his eyes close before letting them open, nodding ever-so-slightly. "I can walk."

"Okay. We'll go slow, I promise. We're going to get you to sit up first. Can you do that?"

Dean nodded, looking up to the small square of light at the top of the steps. John shifted so that he was kneeling behind Dean, and reached out, one hand settling on Dean's waist, the other brushing his right arm.

Dean hissed and jerked away. "Don't touch it!"

John lifted his hands, nodding. "I won't. Is your other arm hurt?"

"Just this one."

John switched hand positions, the left gripping underneath Dean's left armpit, the right on Dean's waist. "You ready?" When Dean nodded, John pulled, ignoring the soft mewls of pained protest and hauling Dean to his feet.

John wrapped Dean's left arm over his neck, his right arm wrapped around Dean's back. The boy was barely supporting any of his own weight, but John was okay with that. Dean's right arm hung uselessly at his side, and John tried to ignore it as he got them to the steps.

Very slowly, each step was conquered, a process that took longer than John expected and made beads of sweat trail down his face. Finally, he got Dean to the top o fthe steps, where Bobby helped him get him to the bathroom.

_Pale_ was not the way to describe Dean's skin. It was a pasty white, an unnatural and unhealthy white, and it was covered in a thick layer of mixed dirt and sweat, with blood stuck to it in some places. The back of his nasty t-shirt was caked with blood, and John winced when he saw the angle at which Dean's shoulder currently sat.

"You did a good job, Dean," he whispered as he handed the teenager off to the waiting paramedics. "His shoulder hurts really badly, guys."

"We'll take good care of him, Detective," one of the paramedics answered, turning to his patient. "Bud, you look pretty bad."

"Not as bad as I feel," Dean commented, smirking, even though everyone could see the way the smirk turned into grimaces of pain.

"Don't worry, we're going to get you all fixed up. Can you tell me your name?"

The voices faded as John watched the medics settle Dean onto a waiting stretched, placing padding around his shoulder to cushion it.

"Good job, kid," Bobby complimented the younger man, clapping him on the shoulder. John shrugged off the hand, ducking out through the back onto the dilapidated porch, pictures of Sam flying through his mind. "Cases like this are hard."

John glared at his partner, shaking his head as he fought to control his breathing. "I keep seeing Sam. If anyone-_anyone_-hurt my child like that, I would kill them. And here they are, doing it to their own son!"

"John, we're just helping; this isn't our case. Let it go. He's going off to a better place, and we have to assume that from here on out, he's going to be just fine." John nodded, letting Bobby pat his shoulder. "You did a good job, b ut next time you run down a thing of stairs without checking, I will hurt you."

"Where is his father?"

"He was upstairs, passed out in the bed."

John looked through the big window into Dean's hospital room, watched the teen shift in pain. "How is he?"

Ellen was an old friend, and the social worker in charge of Dean's case. She had been for the past five months as he went through numerous surgeries to fix his shoulder. Hse had placed him in a half-dozen different foster homes, and none had worked out.

She was at a loss as to what to do with him. Dean was surly, angst-ridden, and he was having a hard time assimilating into his new world, wasn't sure where his place was or how he should be acting. "Not good. The doctor's are hoping this will be his last surgery on the ligament from where he had a separated shoulder."

"So why'd you call me out here?" John asked. "I haven't seen Dean since the raid; why are you asking me to see him now?"

"I'm having trouble placing him, John. All my foster parents are saying no, whether because of the surgery and the attention he needs for it or because they've heard how bad he was at the other homes. I need a favor, or else he's going to end up in juvie and then he's going to fall between the cracks."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"You and Mary are registered foster parents for that time when you thought her coworker was going to lose her kids?"

"Yeah, but that was…four years ago, Ellen."

"It doesn't matter. I would never ask you if I didn't…I want this kid to succeed. I want him to beat the odds, but…the other foster homes have been crowded and no one had time for him and no one understood him-they thought he was a freak, and-"

"You want us to take him."

"I want you to take him," Ellen agreed. "He has the potential to be a really good kid if someone would just work with him, and no one is willing."

"But you think Mary and I could?"

"I think you guys have the right stuff, especially for this kid. I think you and Mary have the patience, and I think Sam would give him an understanding friend."

John looked back into the room, eyes focused solely on the kid's face. "I'll have to talk to Mary about it," he whispered. "And if she says no, then we can't, Ellen."

"But you'll try?"

He nodded, eyes never leaving Dean. "Yeah, I'll try."

**-End One-**


	2. Chapter Two: New

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Please review; I've been getting a whole lot of Story Alerts and Story Favorite alerts, but those are nothing compared to how great it is when I get a review; I appreciated the alerts and the favorites, and I know that means you guys like the story, but reviews make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Two: New**

Dean remembered very little about the day he was rescued from his home. He remembered the pain of being forced up the stairs of the cellar to the waiting paramedics, and he remembered screaming and crying and cursing when the medics tried to set his shoulder and realized that it was more than just a dislocation. He remembered the muddied profile of the man who rescued him, and he remembered waking up lost and alone in the hospital, doused in a burning pain that made him scream.

He remembered the days after more; the girl, mostly, when he was in the hospital and she came to visit with a teddy bear and balloons (that had gone over _so_ well) and her weepy parents nearly falling all over themselves to thank him for saving their _baby_.

Nobody cared that he was uncomfortable in this world, that he was unsure of how to act in return and unsure of what to say and what to do. Nobody cared that large amounts of people (like those homes he had been in in-between hospital stays with the five or six or seven kids) made him anxious and nervous, and that being alone with any adult (with the exception of Ellen, who had somehow stolen into his heart) made him uneasy.

Ellen smiled at him from the driver's side of the car, turning off the engine as they both looked up at the house. It's white siding was immaculate, the windows freshly painted, the roses and flowers out front well kept. It looked nothing like his house.

He couldn't decide if that was good or bad.

He opened the door with his left hand, glaring at his right, the gimp hand, the injured one…the one that may never get better, he remembered hatefully. _Depending on how you respond to therapy, you may or may not regain full motor function of your hand and arm_. The doctor had been so cold when he told him, after the first surgery, when he was already confused about what was going on, why he was in a hospital, why his parents were in jail.

Why his freaking arm was messed up, maybe beyond repair.

"You coming, kid? I don't have all day here," Ellen joked, standing by the open door with an easy smile on her face.

_I know these people, Dean. You know John. He's the one that found you, he's the one that rescued you. These people can help and want to help you, if you will give them a chance. _

That had been after the last surgery, two days before, when he woke up, groggy and alone again. _I'm sorry, but Katherine and Andy just got a new baby, and it's going through drug withdrawal, _she had said, sitting by his bed and resting her hand on his left one.

_You mean they gave me back._

He had been hateful, even though it wasn't her fault. She was trying, so very, very, very hard, and he wasn't _exactly_ helping himself.

_You threw the dinner on the floor, put salt on the window of your room, and offered to perform an exorcism, Dean. You can't keep doing that._

"Dean?" Ellen called, and he winced, letting the ringing stop in his head as he turned to look at her. The doctor had said that would fade, the ringing when he turned too suddenly.

He climbed out of the car, the contraption the doctors had decided to keep his arm in not moving to accommodate him. He was really getting pissed off at the brace, but another three weeks and the doctor said he could possibly take it off and begin rehab.

He climbed the steps to the porch slowly, looking at the swinging bench at the very end of the porch. He ignored it after a few moments, following Ellen inside the already opened door.

The face from his nightmares, the liquid and muddled image finally surfacing as John Winchester stood from his chair and hugged Ellen, then held out his right hand for Dean to shake. "I remember you," he whispered, and John smiled, nodding. "You saved me."

"I helped," John answered. "You saved yourself, too."

"I doubt that," Dean murmured, looking around the house. It was immaculate on the inside-he wasn't sure what he was expecting, given the perfection of the exterior.

"If you hadn't helped that girl, Dean, she would be dead. If she died, we would have never known about your parents. So you saved yourself."

Dean looked away, clearly uncomfortable, and John flushed when Mary cleared her throat, coming forward. "Dean, this is my wife, Mary."

The woman was blond, slight, nothing like his own mother. She had the most beautiful smile. "Hi, Dean. It's nice to meet you."

"You too, Mrs. Winchester," Dean replied, looking around the house, a little shocked and…scared as he studied the living room, the comfy-looking couch, the tv, the gaming system. It was a twist from his own house, which had been a mix of his mom's blandness and sense of bad paint colors. This house looked lived in, looked appreciated, and looked like it didn't house apocalypse-believing crazy people.

"Why don't you come sit down?" Mary suggested, her voice soft and feminine, coming close but not touching him-apparently Ellen had told them that he didn't like to be touched. Or they had some sense to think that someone from an abuse case might not want to be close to new adults without trusting them.

As beautiful as Mary was and as much as he owed John his life, he didn't trust them.

"I can't thank you guys enough for doing this," Ellen said to Mary as they stood in the kitchen, getting some lemonade. "He's a really sweet kid once you get to know him-not at all the surly and distant teenager he tries to be."

"We'll wear down the tough exterior," Mary promised. "His arm…it looks bad."

"It's all kinds of messed up. He separated his shoulder, dislocated it, tore his rotator cuff, fractured his scapula, broke his clavicle, tore several muscles and ligaments and tendons-but the doctor is cautiously optimistic that he will regain all movement of it. It's just been a very hard road, and there's still a lot of road ahead."

"We can take a few bumps and sharp corners," Mary answered. "What about medications?"

"He has one pain pill-that was all he was willing to take-and an anti-inflammatory, and an anti-biotic, and a few vitamins because he was horribly malnourished…"

"He still looks very thin," Mary interrupted, and Ellen nodded.

"And he has a sleeping pill for when he gets nightmares, not that he will take , and a pill for depression, but that basically remains untouched, too. There's a sheet of instructions that I have for you, and another of appointments he has-several follow-ups, therapy sessions, nutritionists…it'll only for the first few weeks," Ellen promised.

"It's not a problem; I'm home all day, so it's nice to have someone else to occupy my time."

In the living room, Dean sat as far away from John as possible, constantly moving and fidgeting with his sling, glaring at the brace wrapped around his arm in an effort to keep it healing well. He refused to look anywhere but at the black brace, but continued to watch John through his peripheral vision, willing the man to stay away from him.

"Do you like baseball?"

His head jerked up, and he hurriedly pushed his brown hair out of his eyes, regarding John as the man nodded to the muted television, where a game was being played. "I…" he got out before his mouth snapped closed, and he bit his lip, eyes on the television. John sighed, but turned up the volume, and he considered it a victory when Dean's eyes lit in excitement as the batter hit a homerun.

John wondered absently if Dean had ever played baseball, or if he'd ever seen it played. Maybe he could find his old mitt up in the attic, get another one. He could see them playing catch in the back, where his property butted into the Travis farm.

"You know, I do know of the sport," John heard Dean murmur, and he wondered if he had said his thoughts out loud. "I don't know why you people think I don't know anything, but my parents weren't always like that."

"I didn't mean-"

"None of you ever do," Dean snapped. "I'm not…I'm not some uncivilized-"

"I never thought you were," John interrupted. "But kid, you act like you've been out of the world for awhile."

"I know," Dean whispered, looking back at the game. "I used to love baseball. I played it as a kid, in a league and everything. I was pretty good."

"Maybe, when your arm gets better, you can try out for the school team," John suggested softly, and Dean cut his eyes across to him. "What?"

"My arm is never going to be better."

"You won't know unless you try."

Dean glared at him. "It's not like I'm going to give up. I'm just saying that it's so screwed up it probably won't ever be the same."

"Then we'll deal with it."

"You really think I'll be sticking around here for that long?" Dean asked skeptically, and John sighed, turning down the volume on the TV again.

"I think we're a pretty good chance, Dean. I think that you could do a lot worse, and I think that if you try just a little, you'll see that this is a pretty good fit for you, too."

"Your opinion will change," he heard Dean murmur as Mary and Ellen came back in. "It always does."

In his old house, Dean's room was at the top of the stairs, a small little thing with boarded-up windows and nasty wallpaper peeling from the walls. A small bed was shoved into the corner, and a dresser fit against the wall opposite the bed. With those few things, the room had very little moving space, and he hadn't spent so much time in there with the training mistakes.

He felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck when John and Mary suggested they go put his few bags in his room. Ellen studied him as he climbed the steps slowly, his bad hand pressed tightly against his side. "It's on the right," Mary said as Dean got to the landing, moving the bag she carried from her left hand to her right. Dean had tried to take his own bags, had gotten pretty angry when John and Mary insisted that _no_, he wouldn't be carrying a bag, and begrudgingly listened when Ellen chastised him.

The door was open, and Dean cautiously went inside, the tension in his body suddenly leaving as he stepped into the large space. The two windows in the front of the room were large and bright, and a desk with a new computer sat between the windows. The room was painted a dark blue, the trim a clean white, and Dean was left speechless.

"We know that there is no furniture yet, but we wanted to wait until you were here so you could pick out what you want, as long as you don't mind bunking with Sam for a few nights," Mary said, and he turned back to look at her, tears welling in his eyes. "Dean?"

"That's fine," he whispered, looking around the room, then coming back to the desk and the computer. "I'm just your foster kid."

"Well, our '_just foster kid_' deserves to be treated just like our son," John replied as he came into the room. "You don't mind sharing with Sam, right? If not, we have a cot we can haul up here-"

Dean shook his head, still clearly…overwhelmed. John wondered how bad the other foster families were, how they treated him if he thought that he was below Sam. "I can sleep wherever."

"I promise, it's just for a few nights."

"It's fine," Dean whispered.

John was standing behind him, and he blanched at the sight of the white scars peeking out the back of the t-shirt. He had forgotten that Dean's arm wasn't the only hurt the boy had suffered at the hands of his parents.

It would be a beautiful room, Mary decided as she stood beside her new foster son, itching to wrap him in a hug, knowing he wouldn't react well. With some dark furniture, a tv, maybe a small couch, it could be a guy's pad, somewhere for him to hand out with his friends. Somewhere for him to do homework and study. Somewhere for him to kick off his sports gear, shrug off his letterman's jacket, toss his baseball bat.

Suddenly, Mary could see _years_ with this boy.

There was a sound from downstairs, and Mary flinched when Dean jumped, eyes darting around suspiciously as his breath quickened. "Dean, it's okay," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Get away from me," he breathed out, eyes still darting, breath still quick. "Get-"

"Dean, it's us. It's John and Ma-" John's eyes widened as Dean grabbed the hand he had set on the boy's shoulder, twisting it around and shoving John into a wall, forearm pressing into the man's neck, his airway. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"No, Dean," John murmured, gulping as he tried to get a bigger breath. "Dean, it's okay. It's Mary. It's John. It's not your parents. It's not demons. You're okay."

It was as if he was lifting Dean from a trance, because the teenager pulled away, lost, frightened, trembling hands running through his hairs as his legs gave way and he stumbled to the ground, back pressed against the wall opposite John. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

John glanced at Mary, who shrugged helplessly, moving towards their charge. She kneeled beside him, smiling softly when he didn't move from the hand she put on his upper arm-which was all muscle, she realized, and probably not normal for a fourteen-year-old. "Dean, I need you to stop panicking and look at me," Mary ordered, and Dean looked up. There were no tears in his eyes, though deer-in-headlights might have been an appropriate description. Mary pushed his hair off his forehead, her hand stroking his cheek. "It's okay, honey. I'm right here. What's wrong?"

"Body dropped in the middle of the night-one of their…" He glanced at John, biting his lip as hard as he could. "It was trying to escape and …I was seven or eight, maybe. It woke me up, and I tiptoed downstairs to see…and I saw them…"

"Okay, Dean, okay. That was just Ellen dropping something," John said, kneeling by his wife. "You are safe here. You don't have to be on alert at every sound. While you're here, I'll keep you safe."

Dean snorted, the trembling ceasing. "I highly doubt that," he muttered, and John smirked, standing, offering him a hand. Dean's grip was firm as he let John pull him up, adjusting his hurt arm in the sling. "You must think I'm a freak."

"I think you are a lot of things, Dean, and freak isn't one of them."

Sam Winchester stared at the teenager across the room with wide-eyed wonder, still clutching his book bag straps tightly as he stood in the doorway, staring into the living room. The teenager hadn't seen him yet, too engrossed in baseball to notice the door opening, and Sam's eyes focused on the white scars that peeked out of the back of his shirt.

So this was Dean.

He had heard a lot about Dean in the two days previously, about what he had been through, how he might treat Sam, how he might react to certain things, but the teenager wasn't what he expected. He wasn't skiddish, and he wasn't as self-conscious as Sam imagined.

"Afternoon, Sam," his mom called, and he saw Dean jump, tensing when he realized his guard had been down. "Dean, I've got some lemonade and some cookies in the kitchen so you can take your medicine."

Sam watched Dean nod, and he smiled at his mom, putting his book bag by the door like he normally did.

Dean was thin, he realized, as the kid stood and turned to them. He was tall, too; Sam wished he could be tall, but his mom said not to worry. _She_ didn't have to endure the teasing of his classmates; _she_ didn't understand.

"Hi," Sam said quickly. Dean nodded and grinned, fixing his arm in the sling once more.

"I'm Dean," the fourteen-year-old introduced himself.

"I know," Sam answered, smiling back. "You're really tall."

Dean let out a laugh, his grin turning into a genuine smile. From the side, Mary couldn't help but think what a _beautiful_ smile it was, and how he would break some hearts as he grew up. "I'm not that tall; I'm sure you'll be taller."

Sam glanced down at his feet, then looked back up. "I think I'm hoping for a whole lot if that's the case."

Another grin, and Dean tossed his good arm around Sam's shoulders, letting the kid lead him to the kitchen. It was amazing to see how easily he got along with Sam, but how uncomfortable he was with adults.

"C'mon, boys, you can bond in the kitchen. Where your pills are, Dean."

"I thought you'd forget about those," Dean answered ruefully.

"I think you thought wrong," she whispered in his ear, ruffling his hair. "Welcome to the family, honey. We hope you stay a long while."

-End Chapter Two-


	3. Chapter Three: Crazy

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Please review; I've been getting a whole lot of Story Alerts and Story Favorite alerts, but those are nothing compared to how great it is when I get a review; I appreciated the alerts and the favorites, and I know that means you guys like the story, but reviews make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Three: Crazy**

"Dean?"

The room was dark, and Dean shifted in his bottom bunk, his eyes opening at the sound of Sam's voice. "Yeah?"

"How come you had to leave your parents? Why would they want you to leave?"

Dean's breath was the only sound in the room after that, and Sam closed his eyes, biting his lip. "My parents aren't like yours', Sam. My parents believe in stuff that's not real and it consumed them, and everything in their lives. Including me. It's not that they wanted me to leave; I had to leave because they cared about a lot of things before they cared about me."

"Why?"

Dean scrubbed his good hand over his face, sighing. "I don't know. I guess I wasn't good enough."

"And my dad found you?"

There was hero worship in Sam's voice, and Dean smiled ruefully, wondering if he_ ever_ felt that way about his father. "Yeah. Your dad found me."

"Did he do something to you? Because you don't like him."

"It's not that I don't like him, Sam. It's that I'm not you; I don't trust my parents, I don't trust any of them."

"Them?"

"Adults, Sam. As good as they've been today, all of them get rid of me."

"Not my parents," Sam answered confidently, and Dean smirked.

"I wish I had your faith, Sam."

"They won't. I like you too much, and I think they do, too."

Dean's smirk fell, and he turned, wincing as pain ran up his arm. "Goodnight, Sam."

"Night, Dean. Sweet dreams."

Dean smiled as he fell asleep.

Dean grimaced as a sliver of light sliced across the room, landing on the bunk bed. "Sam, up, now!" Mary called, glancing at the lower bunk, where Dean was trying to twist away from the light. "Dean, you still have some time. Go back to bed, sweetheart." With that, she closed the door, drowning the room in darkness again, and he relaxed, trying to ignore Sam as the bed squeaked with the effort Sam put into getting up.

He wasn't sure what time he went back to sleep, but there was Mary again, her hand gentle on his shoulder as she shook him. "Morning, sleepy head. It's almost nine," she said as his eyes fluttered open. "I'm making eggs; that okay with you?"

"Yeah," he whispered, sitting up. "I'm sorry I slept so late."

"If you had needed to be up early, I would have gotten you up early, honey. I thought you needed the rest." She paused, satisfying her itch to run a hand through his hair, only momentarily, because he jerked away from her. "It should be ready soon, so why don't you go get ready? We're going shopping today."

He _wasn't _looking forward to that. He hated anything where he was surrounded by a lot of people, and shopping _definitely_ qualified for that. "Can you just go? Whatever you pick out-I'm okay with it."

She laughed, patting his blanketed knee. "Get up. Come downstairs when you're ready."

She left then, and he struggled through his daily routine, coming downstairs with his plaid overshirt in his hand, a pleading look on his face. She paused as she was splitting up the pancakes onto the two plates, setting the pancakes down. "You okay?"

"I need help. I need to take the sling off; I can't. It hurts to-"

She nodded, taking the shirt from him. Carefully, very carefully, she removed the sling, watching as he grimaced. "So what exactly was this last surgery for?" she asked as she set the sling down, picking the shirt back up.

"I tore a ligament in my shsoulder-probably more than one, but this was something major. They've tried to fix it when they were doing other things, but it didn't work. That's why I have to see them a lot more this time-they have to monitor it to make sure the ligament heals correctly or else I'll have decreased ability to use my arm. Everything else has healed really well according to my doctor."

She shook her head, very careful as she pulled the sleeve up his bad arm. "I won't ever hurt you, Dean. I hope you know that. I won't ever let anyone else hurt you, either. I don't understand how your parents can justify doing this to you."

"My parents aren't good people," Dean murmured, shrugging away from her, grabbing his sling. "Some people don't get to have good parents. Sam's lucky."

"Well, your parents were just plain stupid not to realize how good a kid they have," she answered, and for once, he felt like he belonged to something.

"He looks tired," John commented to his wife as he glanced at Dean, stretched out on one of the couches, eyes focused solely on the baseball game on the television. "How did shopping go?"

"It was overwhelming for him," Mary answered. "There were a lot of people trying to help us at the furniture store, and he…but he did really well. No freakouts, just a little eye twittering and a few shakes. He stayed plastered to my side for most of the time. And clothes shopping-he kept _insisting_ that he didn't need anything, that he could pay for the few things he wanted, but I finally managed to get him some clothes, and some decorations. He took his meds when we got back, so he's just been hanging since then."

"And the furniture?"

"Being delivered tomorrow, from 1-5, which is good because he has a doctor's appointment at 9 and then Ellen is coming tomorrow to talk about what he's going to have to do to enter school in the fall."

"I'm sorry this is all falling onto your plate, Mary-"

"This is my job. When I stopped working, it was to be here for Sam. And now, it's to be here for Dean and Sam. So I don't mind. You help when you can, and that's all I ask." She paused. "What do you think about having a couple of people over next weekend to kind of help Dean acclimate? I thought maybe you could grill and we could ask Bobby and Ellen and her daughter and the Travises…"

"Do you think he would be okay with that?"

"I think he needs to acclimate, John. He's not living with those monsters anymore, and he needs to realize that we have a different world-one with friends and family who sometimes do come over and like hanging around," Mary said, glancing at Dean. "Just think about it."

"I will," he promised, kissing her before going into the study, sitting on a couch adjacent to the one Dean was lounging on. "What's the game?"

Dean jumped, spooked, but with one breath, became calm again, sitting up. "I think the Yankees. I haven't really been…paying attention. The drugs make me kinda…outta it."

"How was shopping?" John asked with a smirk. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Your wife is a crazy lady," was all Dean said, eyes on the game. "I told her whatever was fine with me, and yet she kept on going. I was fine with the first bed, the small one, but no, she insists on some huge monstrosity. I was fine with the small chest of drawers, and then she has to the big one! I don't understand her!" John chuckled, and Dean glared at him. "It's not like I'll be staying," he finally got out, and John's chuckles stopped and his smile fell.

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"I stayed with the Herrels for twelve days after my first surgery. After my second, I went to the first group home for a week. Then I went to the Elliots and stayed there for sixteen days. I don't stay places long, and why will here be any different?"

"Because we like you, Dean; we'll fight to keep you, no matter what you try to do," John whispered softly, his voice barely over the volume of the television. "Don't ever say that to Mary, though; she would be devastated. You can say it to me as long as it takes you to get that we aren't like anyone else you've been fostered with, but please don't say it to Mary."

Dean nodded solemnly, closing his eyes. "I'm tired."

"You've had a rough few days," John soothed him, smiling. "Get some sleep; I'll leave you alone."

"Okay," Dean agreed, handing John the remote. "Just…you'll leave the baseball on?"

"Yeah," John answered. "I'll leave the baseball on."

"How has the pain been since I last saw you?"

It was the same question the doctor asked every time Dean saw him, the reassuring question as the man helped get the sling off. "The pain's been fine," Dean muttered, and the doctor rolled his eyes, looking at Mary.

"It hurts in the mornings; he's having trouble getting dressed, eating, those sort of things," she supplied, ignoring Dean's glare. "But he does sleep well, and he eats like a horse when it's food he can feasibly get to it."

The doctor nodded, the nurse notated it on his chart, and he winced as the brace was undone, revealing the still-bruised flesh, the neat, smooth stitches, and Mary squeezed Dean's good hand tight, causing him to look at her. She smiled back, reaching out to push a piece of hair back, her hand steadying on his cheek. "You're doing good," she whispered, and he gave a half-smile as the pain overwhelmed him and he blinked back tears.

"Good. The pain is normal, especially when he's five day's post-op. I'd give it another few days before it starts receding. The incision looks good, very good.; you're doing a good job taking care of it," the doctor was saying, looking up to Dean, surprised by his tears. "You're fine, Dean. Do I need to get the sedative?"

Dean shook his head, his hand clenching Mary's tighter. "I'm okay," he told her. "It just hurts a lot when there's not something keeping it in the exact place where it _won't _hurt."

"I'm putting it back," the doctor grumbled. "We'll see you again in two weeks, and you might be able to start PT then."

"That soon?" Mary asked.

"He needs to start working his shoulder before all of our hard work goes down the drain. We don't want his long, painful journey to be futile. Once this heals enough, it's best to get the PT started so that he regains full mobility," the doctor explained as he tightened the restraints on the brace. "You're lookin' good kid. This home…it's really growing on you."

Dean didn't answer, concentrating solely on putting the sling back on. "So, two weeks? I can make an appointment with…"

"The front desk on your way out," the doctor answered. "Have you talked to the nutritionist that they had him seeing when he went through his first surgery?"

"He has an appointment next Tuesday."

"I have some notes that need to go with him; Jane at the front desk will give them to you. You've done a good job with him, Mrs. Winchester. I hope this will be more than a one-time thing." Mary's eyes narrowed at the words, and she briefly looked at her foster son before smiling, shaking the doctor's hand. "Dean, keep up the good work."

Dean didn't answer, hurrying out of the room, flushed, embarrassed at the pain he showed to Mary.

In the car, she waited for him to start talking, but he never did. "More than a one-time thing?" she asked as he fiddled with the radio. "Not one of them…"

"I'm not a great foster kid," he explained ruefully, biting his bottom lip. "I'm difficult, according to my first set. Stubborn, impatient, unruly…the list goes on and on and on. I'm not a good kid."

"I think they were idiots, hun. Because it's just underneath the surface, all these great things; they should've just searched a little bit better."

"Well, thus far, you're the only one who seems to want to try."

"It's definitely Dean," Ellen murmured to Mary as she watched the furniture movers putting together the queen-sized bed, the dark dresser and bookcase already in place. New clothes hung in the closet, a new TV was mounted on the wall, and there was even a small couch that would go near the TV. The classic rock posters on the wall were vintage. "Are those John's?"

Mary nodded. "Dean didn't want to take them, thought John should save them for Sam, but he didn't get that Sam's not such an ACDC and Billy Idol type-of-kid," she explained.

Ellen crossed the room to the closet, opening the door to see the carving on the back. "Did you know about this?"

"Yeah. John walked in on him doing it last night before he went to bed. He lifted the knife from John's pocket."

"Dammit Dean," Ellen muttered, rubbing her forehead. "I thought this would work. I thought this would be a great home for him, and he just keeps-"

"Ellen, what are you talking about? We aren't giving up on him yet. He wants to carve some foreign symbol into the closet, he can go right ahead, though I did ask him to stay away from furniture."

"He still-he knows he has to work on this. He knows he can't screw around like this. This is what gets him kicked out of places. I want him to survive, to thrive, and he's just _looking_ for a way-"

"Ellen, we're taking care of it. We aren't giving Dean away because he's going back to what he knows; we just have to work on creating better situations and better memories for him to fall back on. I don't think you realize how much I want this to work with him, and how much I will push and fight for that. John might have had to convince me to take Dean in, but he doesn't have to convince me to want him to stay."

John sat with Dean downstairs, watching the boy glance up the stairs nervously. "If you knew it was wrong, and I do know that you know what's right and wrong, why did you do it?"

Dean looked at him, biting his lip, and then looked down at his hands again. "I'm sorry."

"That's not what I was asking, Dean. I asked _why_."

He nearly said something as Dean bit down harder on his bottom lip, but he didn't say a word as Dean opened his mouth. "I used to have to do it religiously in the closet. Because I couldn't do it right, and my dad would get angry and lock me in there. And it was always 'you need this with you always' with him. So I got used to having it around, and when I get nervous, it's the first thing I think of.. He carved one on my back, too."

John's eyes widened when Dean mentioned his back. They hadn't talked about the scars that littered an otherwise smooth back, mostly because between that and his arm, his back was a more sensitive topic. Dean was embarrassed to have the scars, embarrassed at how he got them, and John wasn't about to make him sink into that embarrassment to smooth out the issue.

"What does it mean?"

"It wards from demons, demonic possession. It keeps the spirits out. I'm sorry I took your knife. I know it was wrong."

"You can't just steal things anymore, Dean. That's not the way this family works. You want to borrow my pocketknife, just ask. You want me to buy you one, ask. You want some special type of cereal, let us know. You want to try out for a team, go for it-just tell us. We don't judge, and we don't ask too many questions," John chastised the boy, his voice gentle. "We'll trust you if you trust us."

"I get it," Dean said as Ellen came down the stairs, flinching at her disappointed look. "I couldn't-"

"I talked to Mary, and she said they're handling it. That's all I care about," Ellen answered, patting his shoulder. "You don't get to deface property though, okay? I thought we had a deal."

"I know."

"Well, you need to think about your choices from here on out, you got me?" When he didn't answer, still looking at his hands, she sighed, reaching under his chin to lift it up. "I'm not kidding, Dean."

"I know."

She smiled, patting his cheek. "Okay, then, why don't we go talk for awhile, just you and me?"

"There's a table out on the deck, if you want to sit there," Mary suggested, and Ellen nodded, heading for the back door, Dean following behind her.

"Honey, you look nervous," Ellen commented as she sat, opening up his file. "What's wrong, baby?"

"I didn't mean to mess up," Dean murmured. "They're pissed now and I didn't mean to. I don't want to ruin this chance any more than you want me to. I don't want to be locked in a closet anymore and I don't want-"

"You didn't ruin anything, Dean. They don't care, and you know, realistically, that they will never lock you in a closet. Is that the real worry?"

"Mom called me. Mary was in her bedroom, and I answered the phone, and it was my mother. She scared me.. That's why I carved the sign. To protect me from her."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah. She's gone psycho or something, spouting off about how she wants to be a family, how jail is killing her, how things could be different-and then I told her I didn't want to, and she went ballistic. Started talking about how they have changed me, how they've possessed me…" Dean trailed off, shaking his head. "She's crazy."

"She also shouldn't know where you are," Ellen answered, writing something down on his file. "I'll talk to the DA, and the prison, let them know that she contacted you when she's not supposed to. They'll restrict the number; she won't mess with you again."

"Thanks Ellen."

"I talked to Mary about school for you. We're going to get a tutor in here starting next week and you'll be doing that for four days a week all summer with hopes that you will pass the entrance tests."

"And if I don't?"

"Then, we'll go from there. But, I'm sure you'll pass."

"At least one of us has faith in me," Dean said, a smile finally gracing his face. His thanks-for-helping-I-appreciate-it smile.

In a prison fifty miles from Dean, a ragged man sat in the interrogation room across from his lawyer, his hands cuffed to the table, his feet shackled together. "When can I get out?" he asked gruffly, and the lawyer looked up, clearly confused. "I need to see my son."

"Christopher, I don't think you realize how much trouble you are in. These are murder charges you're facing, murder and torture and kidnapping and child abuse-serious felonies that will _certainly_ get you the death penalty. You need to worry more about the fact that you might not be alive in ten years than the son you tortured."

"I was preparing my boy for battle," the thin man snapped to the lawyer, his eyes narrowing. "I was doing more than you people ever know! When the world is lost, it will be your fault!"

"Listen to yourself, Chris. You won't be seeing your son for awhile. The state's deemed you unfit, and a threat, and he doesn't have to come see you-and based on what he's told the cops, he's not interested in seeing you. We need to focus on your case."

"No! I want to see my son! Now, or else you'll regret it."

**-End Three-**


	4. Chapter Four: Only

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Sorry I haven't been able to reply to reviews; midterms at my school have been going on, and like has been kinda sucky. But now I have chapter four for you. After this, the pace picks up, and the plot moves forward. I promise!

Please review; I've been getting a whole lot of Story Alerts and Story Favorite alerts, but those are nothing compared to how great it is when I get a review; I appreciated the alerts and the favorites, and I know that means you guys like the story, but reviews make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Four: Only**

Dean took a slow sip of his water, eyes glossing over all the people on the deck, eating the burgers and the hot dogs and the chicken he and John had grilled earlier, when the house had been comforting to him. In the week since Ellen had brought him to the Winchesters, Dean had finally found his place within the family, and they had started to grow on him, too. Every time he had to read to Sam as part of his tutoring and the boy just encouraged him along, it made him trust them a little more. Every time Mary asked him what he wanted for dinner just because she thought he would enjoy something made for him, it made him ache inside at the fact that he could have had _her_ for a mother, and not his own. Every time John casually came into the room when he was watching baseball and sat beside him, not touching him or talking to him, but simply being with him, it made him regret not telling someone earlier.

This family was inching their way into Dean's heart.

And so, in an exchange of trust, he had reluctantly agreed to the party.

He was regretting it now. It wasn't that he didn't know these people-Bobby, Ellen, the Travises from next door, a few detectives and some of Sam's friends-but he was very nervous around such a group.

He made his way up the stairs into his room, downing the rest of his water and setting the cup on the dresser, sinking into the comfort of the queen-sized bed and silently thanking Mary for making him test _this_ bed.

"A little overwhelming for you?"

He jumped as he looked at the girl that the voice belonged to, a thin, willowy blonde hair girl sitting on his couch. "Who are you?" he asked, trying to keep calm.

"My name's Jo; Ellen's my mom," she said, standing. "You're Dean. She talks about you all the time."

"Why are you up here?"

"I needed to get away from the hamfest downstairs. Why are you here?"

"It's my room," Dean snapped, and Jo just smiled, sitting beside him on the bed, neither of them touching, just laying together on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Well, it's Mary and John's room; they're letting me use it."

"You're their foster kid, right? Mom says they really like you.."

Dean shrugged. "I think they like me well enough, if that's what you mean."

"I think they like you more than _well enough_," she answered, turning her head to look at him. "You know, you aren't half bad-looking."

He laughed, turning his head to look at her, busting out a genuine smile. "Well, thanks. I think. Did you think I was going to be deformed or something? Missing eyes? Teeth?"

"Possibly a nose," she confided, and he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe an arm. Do you have both of your legs?"

"Yes, all limbs and organs are still attached, though my arm is just barely."

"I've heard. Mom and Dad are arguing a lot lately because he's stupid and doesn't get that she goes _all in_ with kids like you," Jo explained, looking at the black brace. "How long do you have it?"

"At least two weeks."

"That must suck, it being summer and you stuck in that thing."

"Yeah."

They laid in silence for awhile, their eyes drifting back up to the ceiling. "Are you going to Henderson this fall? For school?" Jo finally asked, looking at him again when he sighed. "What?"

"I guess, if I pass those stupid entrance tests they want me to take. I'm not smart like that," he whispered, and she giggled.

"If Johnny Lee Torson can pass them, can be there, I'm sure you will do fine. He belongs back in a remedial fourth grade class, and he's entering high school. I'm excited. For being out in the sticks, Henderson's got this great literary program that can fast track you to some of the best schools, and Dr. Hartley has one of the best classes."

"You talk a lot, don't you?" Dean interrupted, and she smiled, nodding.

"I don't like the silence. With silence, there's more a chance of someone starting to fight, or argue, and I don't really like that. My parents have been doing it a lot lately, and so…no, I don't like silence."

"I've lived most of my life in silence," Dean told her, eyes back on the ceiling. "It was miserable. I was miserable. I like the noise, too."

"So why are you up here?"

"I might like the noise, but I don't like the crowd. I know these people won't ever hurt me, but…I've been pushed and pushed towards _people are dangerous_. And large crowds could contain many enemies."

"Why?"

He glanced over to her, confused. "Why what?"

"Why are there enemies? I guess I just don't get it-how they could think that there are demons and ghosts and-"

"My parents are crazy. I'm pretty sure that can explain it all," Dean cut her off, his breathing the only sound in the room. "Like, apeshit crazy. They kidnapped girls your age and tortured them; they killed people-"

"They locked you in a closet and carved you up and hurt you?" Jo interjected, and his breath caught, a strangled cry that made Jo Harvelle feel bad for the first time ever for saying whatever came to her mind. She sat up, turning to him. "I'm sorry. Sometimes, my big mouth gets ahead of me and-"

"And it's true," Dean admitted. "My back is scared, my arm is going to be eternally screwed up, and they're the ones that did it to me. They are so fucking crazy."

She laughed again, laying back down. "This is a comfortable bed."

"Yeah. Mary picked it out."

"It's a good choice. My bed's small at home. Mom keeps telling me they're going to get me a new one, but since they've been fighting, the new bed's kinda gone to wayside and all. It's not like I mind. I've had my bed for forever, and I'm going to miss it when it's gone."

"My bed back home was this cot-thing shoved into the corner of a really, really tiny room. So, this is…luxury to me."

"It's pretty luxurious to me, too," she joked, and he laughed. "You know, they're probably searching for you."

"I know."

"Which means we should probably go back down to join the masses."

"I know."

"Which means we might want to get up."

"I know."

"Which means I'm the coolest friend you have."

"I know."

She smiled.

"Have you seen him?" John asked Mary as he took another sip of beer, looking around the backyard for any sign of Dean. He had seen the kid thirty minutes ago, that he was sure of, but since then, he had mysteriously slipped off-Sam hadn't seen him, Bobby, Ellen, and now John was beginning to get a little worried.

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. "I'll go look in the house; I'll find you later."

He searched the downstairs first before , growing slightly more worried as he walked up the stairs. He didn't _think_ Dean would run off, but with the way the kid was jumpy, all the people might have just overwhelmed him and he needed to get away.

Or he needed to hide away in his room, John thought ruefully as he saw the two bodies on the bed, his teenage foster son and Ellen's daughter, both of them staring at the ceiling and talking softly to one another. _He made a friend_.

He knocked on the door, surprised when Dean didn't freak out. "Sorry, guys; Dean, we were getting worried about you."

"I'm on my way back down," Dean promised as he sat up, stretching out his back. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem, Dean. We were just worried."

"I'm coming," Dean responded as he stood, hurrying past John, down the stairs. John watched him go, confused, before turning to Jo.

"You know he's been thorugh some bad stuff," John said to her, and she nodded. "He's messed up, Jo. Just so you know. If he's twitchy or-"

"I know, sir. We've bonded; he's going to be my best friend," Jo replied, moving past John and to the stairs. "I don't he's as messed up as you guys think. Sure, he's had bad things happen and it hurts him, but he's not as badly messed up as you guys think. He's going to be fine."

"I know. It's just going to take him awhile, and we all know that, and we're all okay with that." Jo nodded, giving John a smile before she departed down the steps as well. John looked around the room, noticing how Dean was slowly making it his own, a few of his clothes thrown over the couch, the books for tutoring stack neatly at his desk. The blinds were open, the curtains pulled back, and John had a feeling it made Dean feel less…trapped to be able to see the outside.

John made his way back downstairs, smiling when he saw Dean offering to take a tray of food from Mary, giving her a grin to go with the plea. She smiled in return but shook her head, reaching out a hand to adjust his sling. His smile turned into a shy grin as she said something to him, too quiet for John to hear.

Dean had escaped Mary before John got to her, and she wrapped an arm around his waist as he took the tray. "You'll never be able to guess who he's hanging out with," he murmured into her ear, kissing her neck.

"Jo Harvelle," she answered without skipping a beat. He pulled back, eyebrows raised. "I saw her come down after Dean, so I just figured…"

"They were upstairs on his bed when I found them."

"Like, making out or-"

"Talking, Mary, talking. I don't think Dean really has a whole lot of…_that_…on his mind right now. At least, I hope not. Maybe we should be looking for that?"

"I think you are thinking way too far in advance, honey. Dean needs to get a good grip on life before he starts thinking about stuff like that," Mary replied, kissing John's forehead. "But when he does, I think we'll be in a world of hurt, because he's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up."

Mary watched as John escorted Ellen and Jo out, the last of their guests, before walking down the steps of the deck to sit by Dean at the base of their huge oak tree, one of the few that populated the landscape. "So, what did you think?" she asked him as she sat, stretching her legs out in front of her like he had his. "Were they nice?"

"I-they were fine, Mary. You know that," he whispered, adjusting his sling. "Nothing like my parents."

"Oh, honey, I don't think anyone could compare to your parents," she replied, taking his hand. "I don't know that I would want them too."

"Me either."

She grinned, squeezing his hand. "You did really good today, sweetie. I know it's hard, you being around people, but you did so good."

"It wasn't that bad," he admitted, looking at her. "I wouldn't mind doing it again."

"Really?"

"It wasn't so bad. Bobby's cool; he offered to take me and Sam fishing, and Ellen is Ellen, and-"

"And Jo? How'd you like Jo?"

He smiled softly, embarrassed, ducking his head as his face reddened. "Jo's nice. Real nice."

"I'm glad you like her. She's in your grade at school."

"Ellen never told me she had a daughter."

"Ellen concentrates on _you_ when she's with you, sweetheart," Mary said, glancing up as John stood in the doorway. "You ready to go in?"

"Can I just stay here for awhile? I like sitting out here."

"No more than an hour, you got me?" He nodded, and she patted his knee, standing up.

He laid his head back against the tree, letting the breeze chill his body. Today had been a good day. Today had been about meeting new people, getting over his parents, and it was working well.

"I haven't seen you _all_ day," Sam complained as he sat by the teenager, handing him a water bottle. "You left me out there with the Travis kid, Derek-he's weird."

Dean laughed, glancing to Sam. "I've been around, kid," he whispered. "I like your family."

"Yeah? We like you, too," Sam said. "So you comin' inside? Cause Dad wants to watch baseball and I certainly don't want to so I've nominated you to do it for me."

"Why don't you want to watch baseball with your father? At least he wants to watch with you."

"Yeah, but I'm totally a soccer-kind of kid, and Dad understands that. He watches baseball just to annoy me," Sam explained with a smile. "Plus, he does it a lot more now because you like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Come inside; Dad's gonna start getting annoying if you don't hurry."

Dean sat outside for a few more minutes, and then stood, making his way inside.

The day had tired the fourteen year old out, John thought, looking at the teen, sprawled out on the couch, asleep. "You should wake him," Mary said, handing John a beer and sitting beside him on the loveseat. "It's bedtime and we have a doctor's appointment in the morning."

"Another one?"

"Nutritionist. We should be done early; he has tutoring in the morning and I'm pretty sure the English tutor is going to have a coronary at the fact that he's gotten through as many books and quizzes as he has. He's pretty brilliant like that." She smiled at the teenager, watching him as he turned just a little, twisting further into the couch. "She was worried at first, with his initial results, but I think she's going to be pleasantly surprised at how far he's come."

"He's not stupid," John replied. "He just fell behind."

"I like him. I really, really like him. He's a great kid," she whispered to her husband. "Thank you for getting me to do this."

They sat that for another hour before Mary headed off to bed, leaving John to take care of Dean. He didn't think shaking the boy was the best answer, but he didn't really know of any other solution, so he gave the teen one shake, surprised when he jerked up, scared, confused, pain crossing his face as his shoulder got jostled.

"Dean, it's okay buddy, you're safe. Calm down. Breathe in and out, in and out. You at our house, remember?"

"I'm fine," he answered, his voice tight, tense. "I'm fine, Mr. Winchester."

"Clearly you're not, if you're calling me Mr. Winchester again. You're safe. Nobody's going to hurt you here," John promised. "You fell asleep on the couch; you'll be sore if you stay there all night. Why don't you head on up to bed? Mary said you guys have an early start tomorrow."

Dean nodded, glancing at the TV. "Who won?"

"It's not important. Thanks for watching with me."

"Anytime. It was fun."

He trudged up the steps, John watching his every step before he himself headed off to bed, slipping in beside Mary after making sure the lights were off, the house was locked up, and both his sons were safe, asleep in their beds.

"What do you mean you're done?" the tutor asked Dean as she looked at each of the reading quizzes he had turned in. "That was five books."

"I started reading them to Sam, and at all my appointments, and then it just…I like reading. I shouldn't, I'm not that type of kid, but I like it. I like the words, and the stories, so…I just kept reading. And now I'm done," he explained, looking at her as she smiled, shaking her head.

"Well, I'll be damned," he heard her whisper. "I've got another list for you; these are harder books, more on the level you should be reading at; if this persist, you'll be ready to take the English portion of the entrance exam sooner rather than later. I'm very proud of you and how far you've come."

He looked at the books, the list of ten, names like _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer _and _The Great Gatsby _recognizable, even if vague in his mind. "I think Mary has a couple of the books somewhere in this house," he said, pinning the list on the refrigerator with one of the letter magnets. "My writing's still basically illegible."

"It'll come, Dean. In time. You've got to give yourself a chance to work on it," the tutor said, handing him some worksheets. "These will help you. As will writing…just get a journal, a pad of paper, and write. Your thoughts are really good, even on your initial test, your comprehension was superb, so the ideas are there, you just need to polish up your writing and you'll be golden."

He smiled.

Later, he watched as Mary sifted through the refrigerator, finally pulling out a frozen pizza. "This okay with you?" she asked, and he nodded, finally returning to the writing problems the tutor had left for him. "What are you working on?"

"Writing assessment." He paused, letting out a breath. "Mary?"

"Yeah, hun?"

"My mom called the house last week, when I carved the symbol into the closet. I did it because she called. She freaked me out. She scares me, which is pretty damn funny, isn't it, considering I'm supposed to be this cool ass hunter and all, but that woman scares me."

"Honey…." She came around the island, hugging him tight. "Your mother is an idiot, Dean. Your mother is crazy to think that she has any right to you anymore, or that I won't fight tooth and nail to keep her away from you. What brought this on, sweetheart?"

"You…you've been so good to me. I thought you deserved something better than me randomly carving up your house. I thought you deserved my trust."

-End Four-


	5. Chapter Five: Undone

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Again, I'm sorry I haven't been replying, but school's been quite the task master again. I know I said the pace would pick up, but it's going to be another chapter or two before that happens.

Please review; I've been getting a whole lot of Story Alerts and Story Favorite alerts, but those are nothing compared to how great it is when I get a review; I appreciated the alerts and the favorites, and I know that means you guys like the story, but reviews make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Five****: Undone**

John sat back at his desk, stretching out his back. Bobby sat beside him, downing his latest cup of coffee, reviewing one of their cases. "How's the kid?" the gruff older man asked as he finished the coffee. "Didn't you say he started physical therapy this week?"

"Yesterday. He was pretty sore and irritable this morning when we had breakfast, but the therapist pretty much told us that should be his normal reaction, and if it wasn't _then _we needed to start to worry. He's doing pretty well considering, I think," John answered. "He has entrance tests in two weeks for school, and so he's nervous about that, and the therapy hurts and….he's only been with us a month."

"No more carving up the closet?"

John smiled, shaking his head. "No. He's been great. He's courteous, he's cordial, he's smart as hell, Bobby. This kid has gone through like fifteen books in three weeks, and the tutor is saying he'll need to take gifted testing and…she's talking about college. I think she's overwhelming Dean with all that talk. He wasn't thinking about _high school_ a month ago, let alone college."

"Are you guys prepared for that?" Bobby asked, and John shrugged.

"We're pretty sure we're going to try and adopt him," John admitted. "Mary can't imagine him going to anyone else, and really, neither can I."

"He's got a good home with you guys. He's lucky; most kids like him don't get to have that."

John smiled, letting it fall when another cop stopped by his desk. "Captain?"

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" the man asked, nodding to his office, and John nodded, standing up with only one worried look to his partner. "It isn't anything bad, John. I just need to talk to you."

Once inside the office, the captain shut the door, and John eyed the DA that was sitting in one of the chairs. "John," the man greeted him, offering him a hand, which John took reluctantly. "You must be wondering-"

"Yeah, I am, Kyle. What do you want?"

"We need to talk to Dean again; we have a few more questions to ask him."

"You haven't interviewed him in three months, and you want to now? He's finally doing okay, relaxing and getting to know us, and you want us just to throw it all away, to have to start back at the beginning?"

"His father's lawyer is making allegations that Dean willingly participated in some of the killings and therefore should also be charged in the case. I seriously doubt those accusations, as does the rest of the office, but we need to talk to him to find out. And we need to do it soon; we'll have jury selection in the next month or so."

"You think Dean willingly-"

Kyle shook his head, hands up in surrender. "_No_, John, we don't. The last time I talked to that kid, he was so scared of his parents they would do anything they asked. So we don't think that he would murder anyone. I just need to find out about it so that I can deal with it when the lawyer makes that claim in open court."

"All right. I'm off on Thursday, if you want to come then. I'm assuming my wife and I can stay with him?"

"Of course. I'll see you then."

John left the room, blew past Bobby, through the locker-room, out to the break area, before the tear managed to escape and he drew in a shaky breath.

_Oh, God_.

"So, my mom and dad are fighting a lot now."

Dean looked up from his book, finding the piece of paper he used as a bookmark as Jo came into his room, tears streaming down her face, her blond hair wild, pulled out of her loose ponytail. "Okay," he said, scooting over so that he was on his side, letting her climb onto the other. They both stared at the ceiling, Jo's sobs quieting as the minutes passed. "Do you think they're going to get a divorce?" he asked, and she looked at him, eyes wide.

"You are not exactly saying words that I had hoped you would say, Dean."

"Oh. Am I not being a good friend?"

She bit her lip, her eyes closing as more tears threatened to spill. Her eyes opened when she felt his warm hand touch her cold one, and suddenly she was gripping it tight, her anchor. "You're being a great friend. I just…why does my dad not understand that Mom just can't up and quit her job? She helps people, and she can't just stop that. I don't want her to stop that. But my dad just doesn't…he wants her to cook and clean and be a dutiful wife and I'm just so _tired_ of it all."

"Your dad sounds like a dick, if I can just say," Dean whispered, turning his head to look at her, smiling at her as she rolled her eyes. "If I didn't have your mom, I wouldn't have ended up here."

"I know. I wish he would realize that. She helps a lot of kids, and he's just an ass about it all the time."

"He makes you cry."

"I know. You must think I'm such a baby, crying about my parents fighting with all that you've faced."

Dean didn't answer, looking back at the ceiling. Jo wondered if she had pissed him off, but he squeezed her hand, and she smiled at him. "I don't think you're a baby, Jo. Everything is..different with other people. It's not normal to go through what I did. At least you're not a freak."

"Neither are you. Remember, we've been over this. You've retained all body parts, as we established, not missing any organs, so therefore we have concluded that you are not a freak. So stop saying that," Jo said, turning to look at him. "Don't ever say that, okay? You shouldn't call yourself that."

"Okay," he said with a smile, moving closer to her, so that they were touching from toe to shoulder, her head cradled in the crook of his neck. "It's going to be okay, you know that, right? Whatever happens between your mom and dad, they love you, and they should know that their fighting is making you upset."

"I can't tell my mom. She would be so…she doesn't know how loud they got," Jo whispered, staring at the smooth skin of the front of his neck, at his Adam's apple. "I'm so sorry. You probably don't need this."

"I have my entrance exams soon. I'm nervous. What if I don't get in?"

"Did you forget my story? If Johnny Lee Torson can do it, so can you. If you need help, I'll study with you. Especially since school is done."

"I forgot that it'll be done this week; Sam will be excited. Apparently the Travises have a pool that they let him use."

"That'll be fun. You can swim, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes, smirking. "Yeah, that is one normal thing I can do. What about you? Will you be normal with us?"

"I suppose I can."

There was a knock on the door, and for the second time, John scared the two teens with a knock on the door. "Sorry, guys. Jo, your mom is looking for you. Dean, I need to talk you for a minute."

Jo looked at Dean and gave him a smile as she climbed off the bed, saying hi to John as she headed down the steps. "You needed to talk to me?" Dean asked, sitting up. "What-" John sat on the bed, and Dean flinched, moving away.

"Dean-"

"Just tell me when Ellen's picking me up."

John's eyebrow furrowed. "What? No, Dean. No. The DA in charge of your parent's case came to see me today. He needs to talk to you again. Your father is making claims…that you willingly participated in the killings."

Dean breathed out, his lip twitching, and then he ran, off the bed, to the bathroom, John right behind him. He stopped at the doorway when he heard Dean retching, the smell of vomit filling the air. Dean was clenching the toilet, and John sunk down behind him, cautiously placing his hand on Dean's back.

"Is he okay?" Mary asked from the doorway.

"Can you get a glass of water for him?" John answered, and Mary nodded. "Dean, it's okay, buddy. Just let it out."

Finally, he stopped, his whole body trembling, sweat dripping down his face as he leaned back, flushing the toilet. John stood, grabbing Dean's toothbrush and the toothpaste, handing it to him and the glass of water that Mary brought. "Wash your mouth out and brush your teeth-you'll feel better when you do."

"I didn't…I didn't like it. I didn't like any of it," he murmured trying to control his shaking. "I didn't like it, John, I promise…"

"Sssh. I believe you, Dean. I didn't know you would get upset like this, bud. No one thinks that you liked it; he's just got a couple of questions so that when your dad's lawyer tries those outlandish claims, he can bury them. Brush your teeth."

"Okay. Can you get out? Please?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll wait outside for you," John said, squeezing his shoulder one more time before he left, closing the door behind him. Mary was standing there, and she glanced at John when he came out. "Kyle has to come talk to Dean. His dad's lawyer is saying that he willingly killed people and that he should be charged for that. There is no way in hell that kid wanted any of that."

"Kyle doesn't believe it-"

"No, he doesn't. It's just insurance. He's coming on Thursday when I'm off so we can be there for the interview and everything."

The bathroom door opened, and Dean came out, wiping his mouth off. "Why don't you change and take a nap, sweetheart?" Mary suggested, looking at the eschewed sling. "Is your arm okay?"

The brace had come off a day ago, after a meeting with the physical therapist. The white scars gleamed up from the skin, slowly fading as they healed. "Yeah," Dean murmured, letting out a breath. "I don't know…"

"Dean, neither one of us think you would ever be capable of what your father is accusing you of," Mary whispered, wrapping her arms around him, ignoring his twinge as she kissed his forehead. "Your father was the monster; you aren't." He nodded, his head tucked into the crook between her neck and shoulder. "You're just going to answer their questions, and that's all. You'll be fine. Shit hit the fan, and now it's going to dissipate."

"You told me not to cuss," Dean murmured from her neck, and she laughed as she let him go. "I'm tired. I've got a headache."

It was the first time Dean had whined like that to Mary, even when he was two days post-op. "Okay. Go change, lay down; I'm going to bring you some Ibuprofen and one of your sleep pills, and then you can get some rest."

John waited until Dean had changed and opened his door again before he entered. "So, you really like Jo, huh?"

Dean glanced at him from the bed, then grinned. "She's my friend. One of two."

"She's also a girl. A pretty cute girl."

"Oh, dear Lord, don't tell me we're having _this_ conversation," Dean breathed out, eyeing John. "Please no, not today. I swear to you, I don't plan on having sex with her. I don't plan on having sex with anyone at any point in time in the near future, so I don't need this talk. I know how it works, I know what not to do, so I don't need this talk, okay?"

"I was just going to say that she's a pretty girl and she seems to like you a lot."

"I think it's because she can talk to me and I won't judge her because let's face it, my life is a whole lot freakier than my parents constantly arguing or anything."

"I think it's probably more that you are a wonderful friend and a good listener. You are a good person, Dean, never forget that."

"I'm so glad this is _not_ the birds and the bees talk," Dean joked feebly, and John smirked, chuckling when Mary came in the room.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

She had never seen Dean turn such a bright red.

Kyle Bowers felt out of place in the Winchester kitchen, Dean sitting at the island, working on a set of problems for his tutor. Kyle was waiting for John so they could begin; Mary was sitting by Dean, eyeing the DA curiously, wondering what he was going to ask. "Sorry I'm late," John said as he came in, shaking hands with Kyle before he patted Dean's back, sitting beside him. "Dean, this is Kyle, the DA."

"I know," Dean whispered, pushing his work to the side. "What do you want to know?"

"Your father's lawyer is saying that on October 29th of last year, you willingly killed a woman named Eloise Parker-"

"She was blond. They had been starving her for days, and he…Dad was...he was torturing her. Cutting her arms up with silver blades, shooting her with salt bullets-and I was locked in my closet." Dean scratched his eyebrow, biting his lip. "They were asleep-Mom was asleep, anyway, but Dad was drunk-and I got out, and she was in the back room, tied to a chair, blood running down her face, and she saw me, and she _begged_ me to end it-that he was threatening to rape her if she didn't tell him what he wanted, and she didn't know what he wanted.

"So, I did it. I killed her," Dean murmured, wiping the tears off his face as they careened down his cheeks towards the floor. "I didn't want to, but I was…and she begged me. And when I got the gun, and I, I, I um, I pointed at her heart, and she said 'thank you' before I shot her."

"Dean," Mary breathed out, her hand tightening on his arm as tears flooded his eyes. "Oh, baby…"

"I didn't want to kill her. I'm not a a monster, not like them. But she begged me-she begged me-and I-"

"Let's take a break," Kyle whispered, turning off the recorder. "Maybe get him some water?"

"I swear, Mary-"

"No, Dean, stop." He looked up, startled, confused, eyes wide. "You aren't them. You aren't anything like them, no matter what happened on October 29th to a girl. You're okay; just breathe. Kyle's almost done, right?"

"Yeah, we're almost done, Dean," the prosecutor answered.

After ten minutes, Dean signaled his willingness to continue. "What else do you want to know?" he asked as Kyle turned on the recorder.

"What happened afterwards?"

"The shot woke my mom up, and she saw what I did and woke my dad up. They forced me to bury her, and then he said 'I've never been more proud, boy' like I did something _good_. I killed a girl-I….I did _nothing_ good."

"You buried her? That was it?"

"Yeah. And then we went back to our lovely cycle of me getting beat and hit and carved up and deprecated and that's about the end of the story."

"Eloise Parker was the only time-"

"Up until the girl I helped escape. I was fairly obedient, living in fear and whatnot of the abusive parents and all," Dean said, looking at the recorder. "Are we done?"

Kyle turned off the recorder, nodding. "We're done. Thank you for your cooperation, Dean."

Dean glanced at Mary and John before sliding out of his seat and out of the kitchen. John heard his rushed footsteps on the stairs and his bedroom door slam shut. John let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "As if we didn't have enough to work through with him. God, I hate his parents," he murmured. "What can we say to that? He had to kill someone-"

"Not now, John," Mary said. "What's going to happen?"

"Nothing," Kyle answer, shrugging. "We've known for awhile that she wasn't killed by his parents. She wasn't as battered as other victims, she wasn't-most of the other one's were more than shot. We just didn't know who killed her and now we do. I'm sorry I had to do this; I'm sorry he had to go through this again. I'll update you guys when I know the next court date; he'll probably be called."

Sam knocked on the closed door to Dean's room, biting his lip nervously, but didn't wait for permission before he opened it. He knew that Dean never locked his door; he felt claustrophobic when he was locked in. "Dinner was over an hour ago," he said to the teenager, who was staring at the ceiling. "It was really good. Mom made turkey, and there's a plate for you whenever you want it."

"Go away, Sam," Dean murmured.

"No."

"I said get out."

"And I said no. You been holed up in your little room long enough," Sam managed to get out with far more confidence than he felt.

His eyes widened as Dean's hand gripped the water bottle on his bedside table and he flung it at Sam with all his might, water splashing his hand as it smacked into the wall. "Get out!" he yelled, watching Sam jump with fright.

"What is going on up here?" John's voice floated up as they both heard the heavy _thud _of the detectives boots on the wooden stairs. "Sam, we told you not to bother Dean. You're supposed to be doing homework, and I suggest you go downstairs to finish it and get your mom to help." Johns voice was harsh and Sam knew not to argue. When he left, John closed the door, looking at the water running down the wall. "And you should no better than to throw things, Dean. We don't do that in this house."

"I don't care," Dean snapped. "I don't really give a _damn_ what you do in _this _house."

"Excuse me?"

Dean sat up, glaring at John. "I don't care what you do in this house."

"I'm not playing this game with you , young man. I realize today wasn't a particularly good one for you, but you don't get to act like a brat. Sam did nothing; he was trying to be a brother, trying to make sure you were okay, and you-"

"I'm not really in the mood to hear it, okay, John?" Dean said haughtily, rolling his eyes. "You're not my father, so I don't need this talk from you."

"And there that comes, that lovely little phrase," John muttered. "Your father is locked away in jail because he murdered people, because he tortured you. Do you want your father? Because you can visit him if you really want to, you can be his son. But he's not here. I am. So I don't want to hear those words out of your mouth again, you understand me?"

"Whatever."

"So now you are going to be playing that card? Go ahead and try, Dean. You can try as long as you want. We aren't calling Ellen, you aren't going anywhere. Just think about that."

**-End Five-**

**A/n:** So, Dean's got a little bit of an attitude. Now, I must go hide again and write. And study. And write some more. Have a great week guys!


	6. Chapter Six: Drunk

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: So, this is the last chapter for awhile, I think. I entered NaNoWriMo, and so for the next month, my writing should (noticed the should there) be devoted to that. However, I will be trying to at least write one chapter of this in November, and if inspiration for NaNoWriMo doesn't hit, you will probably be getting more like two or three chapters.

Thank you for your review; they make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Six: Drunk**

John grimaced as his cell phone rang; he glanced over to Mary, making sure she was still asleep as he reached for the offending object. "Hello?" he whispered, struggling out of his comforter.

"John? It's Casey from the station. We picked up your foster son about an hour ago, stumbling through downtown. He's drunk off his ass and muttering about some murder or something-he looks pretty bad off."

"Is he okay? He's not hurt or anything?"

"He's just drunk, a little scared of us. We put him in one of the back cells so he could sober up. He's not going to be charged or anything; the arresting officer knows about him and the case and everything, but he needs-"

"I'm on my way to pick him up," John answered sharply. He hung up after saying goodbye and leaned over to kiss Mary. He dressed quickly, grabbing his keys on his way out. The front door was locked, and John wondered how Dean got out before he saw the open window to Dean's room. "Dammit, kid," he muttered, climbing into the truck.

The station wasn't busy when John arrived. It wasn't ever _really_ busy, but the nighttime hours must just crawl by. He was still tired when he walked in, searching out Casey at the front desk. "Thanks for calling," he said as he shook hands with the man. "He still okay?"

"He's starting to…freak a little. I don't know if it's the alcohol finally leaving or what, but he's rather eager to see you," Casey responded, leading John back to the holding cells.

Dean was sitting on the cot, back pressed against the brick wall of the cell, knees pulled up to his chest. His arms were wrapped around his knees, his sling askew, his forehead resting on the top of his knee. "Dean?" Casey called, unlocking the door. "John's here."

At those words, Dean looked up, eyes wide, red-rimmed, pupils dilated somewhat. "John…" he murmured, biting his bottom lip hard. "I'm sorry."

"We'll talk about it later," John said harshly, motioning for Dean to stand up. "Let's go home."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dean whispered, stumbling a little. John reached out to steady him, and Dean jerked away, sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"I know, Dean. Let's just get home," John answered, finally getting a hand on his wayward charge. "C'mon, the truck's in the lot."

Dean was quiet in the truck, and John wondered if he was sobering up. "What were you thinking?" John snapped under his breath, and Dean flinched back, trying to get away from him. "You could have been hurt! What if you passed out? What if you drank yourself to death, Dean? Did you even think about that? Did you think about us, what we would have done if we had woken up and you weren't there? Did you think about Mary?"

"I didn't think at all," Dean muttered, and John nodded.

"No, you didn't. I know you had a hard day-a sucky, hard day, but you can't act like this, young man. You can't just run away when you get scared, Dean. You have to talk to us."

"I'm sorry. I'm not a murderer, I swear, I'm not a murderer. I promise."

John sighed; Dean was clearly still drunk. "I know, Dean. You got scared, that's all. Let's get home and we'll talk about it in the morning."

Getting Dean into the house was an issue; he was drunk, and frightened, all twitchy when John got near him. Mary was in the living room when they got home, and she sighed when she saw Dean. "Honey, really?" Mary chastised him gently, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "You just have to be difficult, don't you?"

"I'm really sorry," he whispered, and she nodded, squeezing his hand.

"Let's get you back to bed; we'll talk about it in the morning." Mary gave John a look before leading the teenager up to his bedroom, tucking him back into bed after letting him wash up. "Oh my God. He's drunk."

"Yeah he is. What are we supposed to do about that?" John asked her, shaking his head. "I mean, can I blame the kid? He just got questioned about a _murder_, he's…"

"It's no excuse for him to go drinking in the middle of the night. Where did he get the alcohol in the first place?"

Dean grimaced as he heard the sharp sound of the alarm clock.

"Get up," John snapped, shaking him. "You've got a lot to do today, and it doesn't include sleeping off your hangover." Dean groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Up, Dean, now. I suggest you shower and you get downstairs before breakfast goes; we have a lot to do today."

He blinked awake as his blankets were stolen from him, finally looking up at his foster father. "What time-?" he croaked, coughing, his head pounding with the sound of the already-turned-off alarm.

"It's six ten. We have to be in Wichita at nine; we need to get on the road by seven," John answered, turning on the light. "Up. Shower. Now."

"I get it," Dean muttered, climbing out of his bed, trying to massage the pain out of his forehead. "I screwed up last night, didn't I?"

John didn't even smile, leaving the room before Dean made it to the bathroom. "I really screwed up," Dean whispered to himself, starting the shower. He tried to wash the smell off him, the dirt and grime that came from _who-knows-where_, and tried to remember what he did last night. He could remember sneaking out of his window, thinking he just needed a breather form the Winchester's and their perfect house, and he could remember walking into the gas station. He could remember looking at the bottles of alcohol lining a shelf, and he could remember slipping one into his jacket. "That was stupid," he muttered as he ran his hands through his hair, letting the shampoo work into a lather.

He remembered consuming at least half of the bottle as he walked along a road, lost in thought, and that's where his memories slurred and fizzled into just brief pauses: tripping at an intersection, blue and red lights, John's face when the cell door finally opened.

John apparently hadn't gone far when he left Dean's room; a change of clothes sat on his bed, a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, an old red flannel shirt that didn't belong to Dean. As he pulled on his boots, he looked out the window, at the still-darkness that surrounded the house. God, his head hurt.

He trudged down to the main floor, throwing himself into a chair at the island. "I will never drink again," he promised to the air, rubbing his forehead again, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain running through his head.

"Let's hope not," John answered as he walked into the kitchen. "Do you want a bagel or cereal this morning?"

"I want to go back to bed."

"That's nice. You can want to go back all you want, but we have things to do."

"What in the hell is in Wichita?" Dean asked, grabbing a bagel. When John didn't answer, Dean looked up at him. "John?"

"An engine for a '67 Impala."

"The car in the garage? You never work on that thing."

"I've been waiting for an engine, Dean. I work on it religiously when I have all the parts. And today, _we're_ going to go get the parts and _we're_ going to put it together and _we're_ going to have a little chat about your behavior." Dean reddened, embarrassed, and John smiled. "Does your arm hurt? You weren't' exactly careful with the sling when you went for your little _romp_."

Dean looked down at the black fabric, adjusting it without saying anything. He ate the rest of his bagel in silence, under John's disappointed stare, and contemplated what _fun_ a two hour ride would be with just him and his foster father. He thought for a minute about asking if Sam could come, and then recalled in vivid detail how he had acted towards the younger boy the day before. He had a lot of apologizing to do if ever this unbearable silence that was between he and John dissipated.

"Are you ready?"

John didn't tell him about the previous ride in the truck from the police station back to the house, but from the way he acted Dean knew it wasn't a very pleasant ride. He climbed in, vaguely remember the thoughts of panic running through his head the night before, thinking it was over. He shifted on the seat as John climbed in, pressing as close to the door as he could get. "Why are you so scared of me?" John asked as he started the car, turning to look at Dean. "What have I ever done to make you this scared?"

"You're angry; generally angry got me hurt with my father."

"Well, as you so eloquently put it last night, I'm not your father," John said, his voice harsh and tense, and Dean winced at the anger behind it. "I'm pretty frickin' furious right now, Dean, but I won't ever hit you because I'm angry at you. I might yell and threaten, but I will _never_ hit you."

Dean didn't answer, leaning his head against the window to stare at the passing road, still trying to ease the pain of his hangover. John allowed the silence for a moment before asking "why did you run away?"

"I was…I don't know, I was…your house is so perfect, you know? And you and Mary are…I just needed to breathe. I only went with the intention of walking around, clearing my head, I promise. But somehow, I ended up in the gas station and the attendant went back to sleep and I was just…I was staring at the alcohol, and I grabbed it and…I don't know what was going through my mind. It was stupid, whatever it was.

"I've had alcohol before, but not as much as I had last night. I just…I kept drinking. And then I remember an intersection, stumbling around like an idiot. And I sorta remember the cops showing up…I've never been like that unless my parents forced drinks down my throat because they had to perform surgery because I got hurt.

"But I didn't really run away. I just wanted to get away from your perfect world because murdering someone is not perfect and it doesn't belong there."

John watched the teenager blink back tears, biting his lip. "Buddy..."

"No! It's true! I screamed at Sam, I was awful to you-you shouldn't treat a murderer so well."

"You aren't a murderer, Dean. You were faced with an awful, awful decision, with something someone your age should _never_ have to go through. You didn't do anything wrong. What would have happened to that girl? If you had just let her be?"

"I don't know."

"What happened to the other ones?"

"Awful things."

"So it's safe to assume _awful things_ would have happened to her?" John asked gently, and he sighed, nodding. "Then you saved her from a worse fate."

"I killed her, John. I watched her die."

"You saved her, Dean. That's honorable. That doesn't deserve to be forgotten over a bottle of whiskey. That doesn't deserve to be forgotten at all."

"So the Impala? How long have you been working on it?" Dean asked, changing the subject. John conceded, letting the issue drop.

"I bought it twelve years ago, on a whim. It was a horrible time for me and Mary. We had a child before Sam-Adam. He died in his crib when he was six months old-the doctors said it was SIDS-sudden infant death syndrome. They don't have a reason for it; it just happens. I just…I was like you, just wanting to get away, and I started drinking. And one day I bought the Impala with nearly all of our savings, Mary was threatening to leave me…and then she got pregnant with Sam. I stopped drinking the day she told me, offered to sell the Impala, but she told me 'no, you bought the damn mess, you better make it spectacular'. And I've slowly been doing it."

"You had another son?"

John nodded sadly. "if he were here now, you'd have a foster brother who was almost thirteen, and one that was ten," John said, glancing over at Dean. "You would still be here though."

"I'm sorry I got arrested."

"They're not going to charge you, but _you_ are going to have to tell Ellen. And you can pretty much guarantee that you are grounded. And you have to apologize to Sam. And pass your entrance tests with flying colors. And be a wonderful kid, which you pretty much have covered."

Dean smiled slightly, then frowned. "You should be angry at me.

My father-"

"Doesn't matter anymore, Dean. You're part of _my_ family now, a Winchester-and I don't act like that."

The Impala was beautiful, the paintjob newly finished, shiny and glossy, and Dean was almost afraid to trail his fingers down it, his eyes focusing on the smell of the interior, the restored dash, the beauty underneath the hood, where the fetched engine rested in its new home. He was nasty, dirt streaking down his back where it had met with the sweat trickling down as he stared at the undercarriage, beside John, the older man describing the different parts, what to do it he was changing to oil, an all-around not-expected way to spend an afternoon of _punishment_.

"You okay?" John asked him, handing him a bottle of water. "You didn't hurt your arm, did you?"

"No, it's fine," Dean answered absentmindedly, still concentrating on the Impala. "When I was six, before my parents turned apeshit crazy, my father used to do this with me. It was a Mustang, I think-he sold it later for money, but before that, it was all working lazy summer nights on the car."

John nodded, carefully closing the hood. "My dad and I used to work on cars, too. That's how I know all this. My first car was a restored Impala. It died just after I married Mary."

"Where is your father now?"

John smiled, patting Dean on his good shoulder. "He died two years ago of cancer. You did a good job today, Dean. Even sitting through Ellen's little lecture. I release you from your punishment. And I think Mary has cookies in the house.

"You considered this punishment? The last time I was punished, I ended up with this mess," Dean replied, motioning to his sling. "This was just a little torturous."

"Well, at least you got _something_ out of it. Sam's waiting for you in the kitchen; I think you should talk to him. He was really…down today."

"I'll apologize," Dean replied.

"He's already forgiven you," John said confidently. "He knows you were having a bad night."

John was right. One whisper of the words 'I'm sorry' sent Sam into tears as he got off his stool and hugged Dean tight, saying that he didn't mean to make him angry and that he knew he was supposed to leaven him alone and that-Dean had shut the kid up by tightening the hug and saying, "I'm sorry" again.

And for the first time in days, the world wasn't off-kilter. For now, all was right with the world.

Dean was in the kitchen reading when the doorbell rang. He glanced up, to the door, climbing off the barstool when he saw a willowy blond through the windows around the door, waving off Mary as he walked to it.

Once opened, Jo hurled herself into Dean's arms, her tears soaking his t-shirt as she sobbed. "Jo?' he breathed out, wrapping his good arm around her body. "What's wrong?"

"I….I…need…to…talk…to…you," she gasped out, looking at Mary. Dean followed her eyeline, giving Mary a small smile as he led Jo outside. "My dad left us."

"Your dad did _what_?" Dean asked as he sat them down, underneath the only shade tree on the property, letting her curl up against his side, wrapping his good arm around her shoulders.

"I got home from school today-the last day of freaking school-and he left. Packed his bags and left. My mom just got home, and she started crying, and she looked at me, and she said 'I don't know what we're going to do'." Jo sobbed hard, her long blond hair falling to hide her face. "My dad is such an ass."

"Are they going to get a divorce?"

"It's only logical, right? I mean, he's gone, and I think he went to Wichita. I think he has a girlfriend on the side, because he called and wanted to talk to me and told me that everything was okay, he was with _her_ and he was going to come back for me soon. I don't want him to come back if he's off in Wichita with some _whore_."

"Jo," Dean whispered as the sobs began anew, and she buried her face in his neck. "Jo, he's not worth your tears if he wants to tear your family apart."

"He's my father, Dean. He was the guy who held me tight when I broke my arm falling off the monkey bars when I was six. He's the guy who taught me how to dance before Johnny Lewis asked me to the dance in middle school. He's been there for every soccer game, for every softball game-until now."

"What do you want me to say to you, Jo? I don't know what to say. I'm not good at this-I make a crappy friend at this. So what do you want me to do?"

She smiled as he breathed the words out, barely audible, and intended only for her. She could feel him trembling, scared, and she wondered if this was weird for him, being a comforter to a friend. He didn't have friends before he came to live with Mary and John, and even now, he didn't have a whole bunch of friends.

"Jo?" he murmured, and she looked up, eyes squinting as she stared at him in the shadow of the sun. "What do I do?"

"You're doing it, Dean. You're sitting here, you're listening to me, you're being my friend. Thank you."

Mary watched them from the kitchen, watched as Jo whispered something in Dean's ear and he grinned, tightening his arm around her shoulders. Dean didn't light up like that for anyone but Jo. She was like his anchor, the thing that kept him grounded through all the crap that surrounded him and tried to drag him down. Jo was the bright star that kept bringing him back home.

-End Six-


	7. Chapter Seven: Time

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Inspiration didn't hit. My NaNoWriMo attempt is down the drain, but on a good note: I have a new chapter. Stuff will start getting interesting soon, with Dean getting a dose of his first holidays with the Winchesters, and the trial of his father getting under way.

On another note, I didn't realize that fanfiction wasn't separating the pieces of each chapter with page breaks; I'm sorry about the muddled jumping around.

Thank you for your review; they make my heart go pitter-patter.

So, reviews=love

**Seven**: Time

It was the first Saturday in October, and John was cooking breakfast for his two boys, Sam reading a book, Dean working on some paper that was due the next week at some point in time. He had struggled in his first few weeks to fit into his high school, and John had wondered if it was too much for him.

But then Dean had told him about the first friend he made that wasn't Jo Harvelle. He was a skinny little kid name Tyler, and he was in Dean's advanced Biology class. Dean had invited him over to study for a test, and that was the first new friend. Apparently, Dean was popular, because in the weeks that followed, he had bowling with Chris and Jeff and "guys from the baseball team" and dates with Terry and Anna and Hannah-they were twins-and John wondered if the boy's past was hidden somewhere in his brain, locked up tight.

Today, Dean was free. He and John were going to work on the Impala, perhaps goad Sam into helping. Dean had said something about Jo coming over that night and maybe watching a movie, but that wasn't until the night, and he had left his day free for bonding with John.

"Here you go," he said as he set the plate in front of Dean, who wrote furiously for a few more seconds before stopping his paper, setting it aside.

"Thanks," he whispered, shoveling down the eggs in a few bites.

"You can slow down, Dean."

His foster son smirked, shrugging both shoulders, a welcome sight in the Winchester household. His PT had gone remarkably well, most likely because Dean had been willing to do jthe work. John remembered coming home during the summer to Mary helping Dean with some therapy exercise, or going with him to the therapist.

The first time John took Dean to see a baseball game, he had seen the gleam in the teenager's eyes and he had felt his heart flutter at smiling Dean.

The first time Dean and he had played catch, when he saw the flare of talent Dean had, he saw that same gleam and knew Dean was pushing himself onward from what a nightmare his life had been.

"You should come help," Dean said to Sam, shaking John from his thoughts. His son smiled but shook his head. "C'mon, Sam. We're almost done, and we could use some extra help. Please? Just for like an hour? Then maybe we can-"

"I can't. Ben's mom's picking me up soon; I'm going to see a movie with them and then I'm spending the night," Sam told Dean, who rolled his eyes and ruffled the kid's hair. "Hey!"

"What are you going to do to me, shortstuff?" Dean teased, and Sam glared at him. "Don't worry Sam, at some point in time, you'll start shooting up."

"Until then I'm the shortest boy in my class!" Sam complained. "It's not fair."

"You'll grow up soon, I promise," Dean answered, nudging the kid's arm, making Sam smile. "So, what movie are you going to see?"

Once Sam had left, Dean followed John out to the garage. "I thought the car was running?" Dean asked his foster father as the man lifted the hood, pulling his tool bench closer.

"No. The engine isn't quite hooked up yet. We're going to finish that today."

Dean was an eager student, not only for his education, but for anything having to do with cars. He could pour over car magazines, sure to ask John about anything he didn't get, and they had gone to a car show in Topeka with Sam and Mary just before school started. Dean had gone gaga over a restored Mustang, explaining to Sam about all the specifications as they walked around the grounds.

"So, Jo's coming over?" John asked to fill the silence, and Dean looked up from where he was working, eyes squinting in confusion. "Today? You haven't talked about having plans with Jo in awhile; I thought you two were fighting."

"No. We have like three classes together, and she's my partner in Chemistry. I guess I've just been…spread a little thin lately, haven't gotten to hang out with her as much as I would like, so she's coming over today while Ellen goes to see Jo's dad to get the divorce papers," Dean explained. "I miss hanging out with her, but she doesn't' get along with Kyle and the guys on the baseball team, and it's hard to keep them separated."

"Why doesn't she get along with them?" John asked, and Dean shrugged. "You didn't think to ask?"

"It has something to do with middle school, I don't know. They say stuff about her, and I try to ignore it."

"Just remember that Jo was your friend first-that she didn't judge you…"

"And if it came down to having to pick one, Jo would win hands down, John. But I like the guys. And if I want on the team-and I'm good enough for it-then I have to get along with them. Jo knows that; she accepts it," Dean said, handing John the ratchet. He let out a heavy breath, making John look at him, biting his lip.

"What is it?"

"Have you heard anything about my father firing his lawyer? I saw an article, and it said that my father got thrown out of court during some pre-trial hearing and-"

"Yeah, I've heard. I didn't know whether to tell you or not-I didn't know whether you'd want to know," John replied in a whisper, looking at his foster son. "Do you want to know what's going on?"

"I mean, I have to testify, don't I? Shouldn't I know what's going on?"

"Do you want to know what is going on? That's all that matters."

Dean shrugged. "I….I'm not sure. I just….I don't know if I should be or….I just don't know."

"So, if you ever feel like you definitely need to, then let me know and I will tell you everything. Until then, don't worry about him," John said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezing. "How's school going?"

Dean smirked, thinking _safe topic_ in his head. "Good. Easier than I expected, you know, with the whole haven't been in school in forever thing. Even the advanced classes aren't nearly as hard as I anticipated."

"That's good, though. IF you get good grades, graduate with honors, you'll get in to any college you want."

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "College, John? I don't have any money. I'm a freak who's parents murder people for fun because they think the apocalypse is coming…"

"You're smart, and brilliant, and talented, Dean. You are more than your parents. And as for money, Mary and I will-"

"Don't say you'll pay, John. You have Sam to worry about-"

"And you, Dean," John interrupted him, giving him a smile. "You're ours to worry about, too."

* * *

Jo stood in the kitchen, watching the popcorn in the microwave as the bag raised with each _pop_ of the kernel. She knew Dean was in the living room, setting out the supplies they had gathered for a massive movie fest, and she smiled, pushing a piece of her long blond hair behind her ear.

"Is it ready?" Dean called, and she glanced back at him, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, Jo, I wanna watch…._Star Wars_! Sam's always going on and on about it, and I want to see what all the fuss is about."

"Where are Mary and John?" she asked as she opened the microwave.

"We got the Impala running this afternoon; Mary and John went for a spin. They'll be back later tonight, never fear, your virtue will remain intact," he joked, and she rolled her eyes again as she brought the bowl of popcorn to him, sitting down on the floor beside him, their backs resting on the couch. She smiled at him as he handed her a coke, pressing the play button on the remote.

He was engrossed in watching the movie; it was one fo the creature comforts he didn't have before coming to the Winchesters, and he had discovered in the months he had been here that he loved movies.

"Han Solo's my favorite character," Jo murmured from beside him when Chewbacca led Luke Skywalker and Obi wan Kenobi to the pilot. "God, Harrison Ford is hot."

"Jo, so not the topic I want to discuss with you." Jo laughed, pressing close against him. "Scared? This movie isn't scary, Jo. Not in the least bit."

"Cold, Dean, that's all," Jo answered, her face coloring, a mumbled "thanks" all he got as he put the blanket around her shoulders. "Thanks for hanging out with me today. I know that you've got other friends to hang out with. The baseball team-"

"Jo, you're my best friend. No one comes before you, not even them," Dean said seriously, looking at her. "Don't ever think that you can't ask for some of my time. After this summer and how you've been towards me, and how you were my friend even when you knew that I wasn't…I was a freak-" she frowned at that word, but he continued, "a freak, no one comes before you. Especially not the baseball team. I probably won't even make it."

"Dean, you're great at baseball-I've seen you play, remember? You're going to make the team, and then I can come to your games and scream your name embarrassingly-it'll be great," Jo said, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm your best friend?"

"Besides Sam, yeah. You're the best. You're the only one who knows about my parents. You're the only one who knows what I'm really going through."

"How is everything? I've been so busy with my own family drama that yours'…"

"I don't know. I don't know what's going on, and I'm not really sure if I should even care. I mean, my parents tortured me, and I just don't know if I'm ready to face them, even if it is just through the newspaper or John or if I should just man up and accept the fact that I'm gonna need to know."

Jo nodded sympathetically, wrapping his hand in hers'. "What do you want? Don't think about your parents, or your foster parents. What do _you_ want?"

"I want to know," Dean said softly, eyes on the TV.

"There you go, then. You need to know."

When John opened the door, a smirk on his face as Mary whispered naughty things in his ear, he was surprised to see the TV turned off. He saw Jo's shoes by the door, and looked around, confused as to where his foster son was. "Look," Mary said, pointing to the space between the coffee table and the tv, where Jo lay asleep, Dean's arms wrapped around her. "I think we're going to have a talk with them two."

"They're just friends, Mary," John answered as they stole past the teenagers to their bedroom. Mary didn't say anything until their door was closed. "I honestly don't think Dean-well, I know he thinks about that, what with all the dates and whatever-but I don't think he thinks of Jo like that. She's too special to him to consider messing around with."

"But someday, they're going to realize that-"

"I think we need to get him through his parents trials before we have to worry about that, Mary. One thing at a time."

"I think I love you," Mary said with a grin, wrapping her arms around her husband's neck. "I think you need to take me to bed and show me how much you love me."

* * *

"I need to know," Dean told John as they ate breakfast the next morning. John looked up, confused, wanting Dean to elaborate. "About my parents-I have to know."

"Okay then," John replied, smiling. "Yes, your father fired his lawyer. I think he's going to be representing himself, which is like he's signing his own guilty plea, but whatever. Jury selection begins in mid-November, before Thanksgiving, and with any luck the judge will set the trial date then. That's all I know right now."

"You'll tell me? Everything? I won't look at it, but…you'll tell me?" Dean bit out, pushing his eggs around his plate.

"Yes, Dean. I'll tell you what I know when I know it, up until the point when you have to testify. You will already be miserable enough when that point in time comes along, and I refuse to add to it." Dean nodded, eating a small bite before returning to pushing the eggs.

"What do you think testifying will be like?" he asked in a whisper, looking up at John, eyes wide, innocent.

"The prosecution will be fine. They're on your side, remember? But the defense-I just have a feeling it's going to be a bad time for you then, because they tend to be jackasses about that," John answered. "But then you're going to have me and Mary and Sam there to hold you down to reality."

"No more drunken tirades," Dean promised. "What do you think they'll ask me?"

"I don't know, kiddo. I don't really want to fathom what they might try to ask."

"Jo reckons they're going to try and make me out to be some strong willed person who _influenced_ my parents to do what they did," Dean whispered. "Like there isn't clear evidence of abuse."

"Don't underestimate what your father would do," John cautioned the teenager. "You and Jo looked awfully comfortable last night."

"You know, those words keep coming out of your mouth, and I keep telling you that _nothing_ is going on between me and Jo, and you just look like you keep itching to tell me about safe sex, so why don't we get this over with now."

"Aww, but I need to wait until Jo is here, and you can light up like a Christmas tree and-" Dean blushed, and John smiled. "I trust you, Dean. Should anything start to happen, I trust that you will think about your actions and what their consequences might be. And if it should turn into a sexual relationship-" Dean didn't think he could get any redder, but he did, looking out the back door, "I hope that you use protection, you make sure she is on the pill, and that should something happen, you are ready to face the future, that you are ready to man up."

"If I ever got someone pregnant, I wouldn't abandon them," Dean said, his voice distant. "But I'm fourteen, John. I just started figuring out what a normal life is. I just stopped having nightmares about people carving stuff into my skin. I just started hanging my clothes up in a closet and didn't hyperventilate over it. I'm not ready for any type of relationship like that."

"I know, buddy. You are a great kid, and you are going to make a great man when you grow up," John promised, squeezing Dean's forearm. "And with that, we'll stop the serious talks. You want to go for a ride in the Impala? I might let you drive."

"Isn't that against the law?" Dean asked with a laugh, standing up.

"Maybe."

"Are you sure you should be doing your job?"

* * *

"So, are you available to study for Bio, or is your schedule wickedly full?" Jo joked as she grabbed Dean's elbow, leading him through the throng of people towards his locker.

"I'd have to pencil you in," Dean joked back, "but of course I have time for you."

"Good, because me and mitosis aren't friends right now, and considering your great at everything, I figured I'd bow down to your genius and absorb your knowledge," she said as they stopped in front of his locker. "What are you doing today?"

"I have a meeting with your mom for something, and then Sam and I are going to go play soccer or hit a ball or something in the park. What about you?"

"Dad has me today," Jo answered glumly. "Is Friday okay? I figured we could grab dinner, and since Mom's most likely going to be gone, maybe I could come visit you guys?"

"What is your mom doing? It seems like she's gone every single weekend," Dean observed, almost regretting the question when Jo pushed her hair out of her face, leaning against the locker beside his.

"She's dating again. My parents have been divorced for like a minute, and my dad is playing house with his whore, and my mom is going through man after man. I'm tired of it some days…" she murmured, glancing at him, smiling when he grinned at her. "I miss you sometimes. I remember how it was when you were new, and I know that we can't go back to that, because you're handsome, and you're likeable, and people flock to you because it's unequivocally just _how_ you are, but I miss hanging out with you all the time."

Dean closed his locker, shoving his books in his bag before slinging it on his shoulder, looking at her. "Jo, you are my best friend. I always have time for you. Just say the word, and I'll be there," he whispered, hugging her tight. "No matter what, I'll be there for you. And Friday sounds great."

She smiled as they walked out of the school together, just the two of them, like the old days.

"You need a ride?" Ellen asked her daughter, who shook her head, heading off to the library. Dean watched her go, turning back to Ellen.

"Why do you need to see me?" he asked as he slid onto the seat, looking around the vehicle. "Is this new, Ellen?"

"Bill got the other one," Ellen conceded. "You mind getting something to drink? I just have a few things to go over with you."

"Whatever," Dean answered, shifting uncomfortably.

He knew something was really wrong when they sat down and Ellen pursed her lips and looked at him. "Uh-oh."

"I gave the Winchesters adoptions papers three and a half weeks ago, Dean. They haven't given them back. I want to know what has happened to make them think about changing their minds."

"What?" Dean breathed out, a sharp pain building in him. "They want to adopt me?"

"They were so excited to adopt you, Dean. What happened? I know abou the mess this summer, but you've been so good lately, and I just-"

"I didn't do anything, Ellen," Dean snapped, standing up. "I don't know what you want, but I didn't do it. God!"

"Dean, where are you going?" she yelled at him, and he turned, shaking his head.

"Does it matter? I'm walking back to my foster home. Just leave me alone!"

* * *

"What's wrong with me?"

Mary looked up from the file she was working on, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. "What, Dean?"

"Ellen wanted to know why she gave you adoption papers three weeks ago and you haven't returned them. I want to know what I did, because I'll fix it," Dean said, desperate. "Mary, I didn't do anything. I'm trying so hard, and I want this-"

"Oh, Dean." She put down the file, standing up, wrapping him in a hug. "Sweetie, we love you. You are part of this family, just like you are. And it's not that we don't want to adopt you-we do, believe me-but we wanted to wait, until we were sure _you_ wanted to be a part of this family. And we figured with the trial about to start and with school, you didn't need to worry about this. But now that I know that you want to be a Winchester, then yes, we'll sign the papers tonight."

"I thought maybe you dind't-"

She pressed her hand on his cheek, lifting his head so that she was staring at his beautiful eyes. "You aren't some…trash, Dean. We want you. No matter what."

"You sure? I come with a lot of baggage, murdering parents and freaky symbols on my back. I got drunk once, caused a big problem-"

She laughed, ruffling his hair. "I think we can handle all that. I'll talk to John tonight, and we'll file the papers tomorrow."

"Thanks, Mary."

"No, baby, thank you. You've completed our family; we couldn't ask for anything more."

-End Seven-


	8. Chapter Eight: Dance

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true)

**Author's Notes**: Chapter Eight for you! It's awkward in formatting, so tell me if you don't like it. The italics are Dean's memories.

The next will contain more of the back story for the new character introduced in this chapter, as well as the start of Dean's first holidays with the Winchesters (and mayhap some visits by the grandparents); however, I don't know when it will be out because I have finals starting next week, and they will be the Dementor coming to suck my soul out until my winter break begins.

Enjoy and please remember, reviews=love

**Eight: Dance**

_"Hey, Dean." _

_ The super-soft, super-feminine voice made him pause in the task of getting the books he'd need for homework, glancing to his left, taking in the girl's cheerleading uniform, the long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied with ribbons that matched the uniform, her brown eyes. She obviously knew him from somewhere, or someone, but he wasn't sure he knew her, so he continued on in his task, muttering a soft "hi" to be polite._

_ "I'm Rachel; Chris is dating my best friend."_

_**Oh**__. Chris was one of the guys from the baseball team, one that he frequently went to the batting cages with, one he practiced with in anticipation of tryouts. Chris was dating some girl…Kate or Katelyn or something to that affect, but Dean didn't really have much to say to her and he certainly didn't want to talk to her after some of the things had come out of her mouth. _

_ Some things about Jo._

_ "Um, Dean?"_

_ He closed the locker, spinning the dial for the lock before turning back to look at her. "Yeah, Rachel?"_

_ "You know homecoming is this week, right? With the game and the dance and everything?"_

_ Dean looked away, at the door on the other side of the hallway, the empty classroom. "Actually, I didn't. New kid and all."_

_ "But didn't you have homecoming at your old school?" Rachel asked with that __**duh**__ tone that made Dean dislike her friend so much. When he didn't answer, she sighed loudly, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Well, anyway, I thought you would have asked by now, seeing as how Katie told Chris to tell you to ask me, but you haven't."_

_ Dean had not a clue what she was talking about, shrugging on his book bag. "I really need to go. I have to meet Mar-my mother for a ride home," Dean stuttered out, searching for Jo._

_ "So, are you going to ask me?" Rachel asked expectantly, bringing out of his search and back to her._

_ "Ask you what?" he snapped, finally giving her all his attention. "I don't know what I am supposed to ask you, Rachel, so why don't you just tell me so I can ask?"_

_ "To the dance, Dean. I need time to pick out a dress if its going to match Katie's and your tie-"_

_ "What dance?"_

_ "The Homecoming Dance. God, don't you listen to anything? It's like the biggest dance we lower classmen get until we can start going to Prom," Rachel replied. "And since Chris is your best friend and he's dating my best friend, I figured you would want to ask me so we can, like, double date."_

_ Dean stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "Um, Rachel, I can't."_

_ "__**What**__?" she screeched, and he reddened as several people in the hall stopped and stared at them. "What do you mean you can't? You already asked somebody? Or did that skank Hillary ask you already?"_

_ "Um…no. I…" he looked around, desperate for a lie to come out to explain away his negative answer, and then he spotted Jo, stopped at the end of the hallway, staring at him. "Jo and I are going together."_

_ "You and…Jo?" Rachel bit out, looking where he was at the blonde girl, rolling her eyes. "Dean, you don't want to go with her."_

_ She sounded patronizing, like she was talking to a five-year-old. "Why wouldn't I want to go with Jo?"_

_ "Because she's Jo Harvelle, for one thing. She's like…this school's version of trash. You don't want to be caught dead with her, let me tell you, especially if you want to be on the baseball team. You want a pretty girl, someone who looks good and is popular and is good for your reputation. She isn't that person."_

_ "Interesting," Dean muttered, walking past Rachel before turning back to her. "You know, she's my best friend. You should watch what you say to certain people, because you would be surprised what people have to say about you in return. I'm not going to the dance with you. I'm sure you can find someone else to be your boytoy or whatever."_

_ He didn't pause to look back at her, heading straight towards Jo with a grin on his face. "You are going to hate me," he said as they turned towards the exit. "Really going to hate me."_

_ "And why would I do that, my friend?" she asked. "Does this have something to do with Rachel Carrol?" _

_ "Kinda sorta?" Dean answered, biting his lip. "How would you like to go to the Homecoming dance with me? Because I kinda already told her you were so that I didn't have to go with her, and it would be much appreciated if I could follow through."_

_ Jo let him take a breath, pushing her long hair off her shoulders as they made their way to where the truck was parked. "I don't do homecoming crap, Dean. I don't-I'm not that girl."_

_ "Yeah, I've gotten that from the snide comments coming from Rachel. What did you do to them to make them hate you?"_

_ "I'm not a cheerleader?" she guessed, shrugging. "I've never been popular in this town, and especially not since my mom was the one on a raid into Katie Lowell's house. I really became unpopular then. It's okay; I've gotten over the fact that I will never be one of those peppy, happy people."_

_ "I wouldn't know what to think if you were," he whispered in her ear as he opened the door for her, the smile she graced him with warming him to his soul._

_ "You know just what to say to get me to agree to things like going to Homecoming, don't you?" she replied, and he smiled even wider._

-/-

"Dean!"

It was Jo's voice, he knew. It was a scream, a frantic scream, and it forced him from his memories and back to the night, to where his head rested on the pavement of a road, pounding in agony, and noises were muted, vision was blurry. He blinked, clearing the tears from his eyes, and he saw her, wide eyed, frantic, one strap of her green dress ripped, her hands and knees skinned.

He whimpered as that mysterious man—the one who had attacked him and Jo on their way home from the dance (Ellen's house was too close to _not _walk back)—kicked him in the ribs, sending pain racing through his brain. He managed to grab the man's foot, jerking it as hard as he could as he concentrated on breathing and getting up.

"Dean!" It was Jo again, and when he glanced to her, she was searching through that small handbag her mother had insisted she bring. She found something, but then he had to focus on the man as he was punched, his vision darkening around the corners.

He felt something at the tip of his hand and he curled his fingers around cold metal as a hand wrapped around his throat. He glanced at the cylinder he now held, his thumb brushing across the dispenser at the top and he shoved it in between the man's face and his, pressing on the white top as hard as he possibly could.

His eyes were burning, but he could hear the man's cries and he could _breathe_, and he forced himself to crabwalk backwards, until his forearms smacked into the curb. "Dean," Jo whispered beside him, pulling him up. "I know it hurts, but we need to get to my mom before this guy gets up." He felt her arm wrap around his waist, and even as he tried to wipe the pepper spray out of his eyes as tears ran down his face. "Hold on, Dean, we're almost there. We need to run-he's up on his feet."

And so he ran, as fast as he could, stumbling a few times on the concrete as he fumbled around blind in the dark, led only by Jo's hand and hurried on by the yells of their pursuer. "Jo, how much farther?" he whimpered, his ribs screaming out at him to stop, to relax, to let them get some _air_ back in them, but he couldn't.

If he did, he might not be breathing in the morning.

"We're almost there, Dean. We're almost-" her scream coincided with him being pulled to the ground, and he reached out his hands to brace his fall. He twisted, his vision still teary as he kicked out, smirking when he heard the sharp cry of the assailant. "Dean-"

"Go! Get your mom!" he yelled at her, glaring at the man as he grabbed Dean's ankle, jerking the teenager towards him. "Now, Jo! Get out of here!"

He heard the hurried steps of her heels as she ran, but he concentrated on the man, on his greasy hair, his stark black eyes, and he suddenly _remembered _him.

He was eight when he first saw the man, introduced as Elijah, and he was the man to start Dean's militaristic training regime, the one to start the daily punishments, the one who implemented _the closet_. He could feel his world imploding, feel his father closer than ever, even though the man was still in jail in Leavenworth, and he panicked.

"Aaah, you remember now, boy," the man's soft, evil voice said into his ear as the hands—big, unmerciful hands—wrapped around his neck again. "Your father is awfully mad at you, the way you abandoned him, abandoned your cause. Asked me to deliver a message to you: this is what happens when you disobey your father."

"Then you can go back to prison and tell my father he can go to hell," Dean bit out, one word at a time even as the hands cinched tighter and his could no longer suck in air.

"Does it hurt, my son? Can you feel your life ending? I am saving you from this life of lies that these people—these people you abandoned your _family_ for—have convinced you is so real. There are demons that will kill you; there are demons-"

"Dean!" Light shined over them, and Dean sucked in a breath as the hands around his neck loosened, the weight that was pressing him down onto the cold pavement lifting. "Dean, just breathe, honey. Jo's calling the cops, and I've got my gun should that guy try to come back."

"Ellen," he murmured, his hand finding hers. "Ellen-"

"Don't talk, honey," she replied, "your throat is going to hurt no matter what, but the less you talk, the better."

"His name is Elijah," he breathed out, wincing.

"You know him?" Ellen asked, and he nodded. "Dean-"

"He's a friend of my dad's."

-/-

_"You look beautiful," Dean greeted Jo as she opened her door, glancing down at her short green dress. _

_ "You think?"_

_ "Jo, you put Rachel and Katie to shame on a normal day—which is probably why they hate you so much—so I think it's safe to say you are a knockout in that dress."_

_ "There's nothing like flattery to enlarge a girl's ego," she said. "You don't look too bad yourself."_

_ "Thanks for doing this with me, Jo. I know you don't like these things, and I know you hate Chris and Katie and Rachel and all them, but thanks for swallowing that pride and being my best friend," Dean whispered as he sat by her on the couch, watching his-Mary and Ellen greet one another. It was harder to think of her as only Mary, as his foster mother, when he could __**see**__ her as his mother, he could __**wish**__ her as his mother._

_ "Dean?" Jo called, nudging his arm, and he turned, grinning. "You were totally off in lala land."_

_ "Well, it was an interesting place to be," he answered. "So, I say we stay at this thing for an hour or tow, and then we come here and see if we can beg your mom to take us out for ice cream or something. How does that sound?"_

_ "What, you don't want to stay at a dance with me?" Jo teased him and he rolled his eyes. "Mom. Mom!" Ellen looked back at her daughter. "Are we going to go anywhere soon?"_

_ "I want pictures first." Mary grinned as she waved her camera, and Dean groaned, rolling his eyes again. "Dean, don't give me that look. C'mon, you and Jo, now, outside."_

_ "You're so pushy sometimes," Dean joked, raising an eyebrow at her, but he stood, offering a hand to Jo. "Shall we? I wouldn't want to disappoint my foster mother."_

_ Jo took his hand, grinning as her dress swayed. "I picked this dress solely because it swishes. And it's green," she explained to him, moving so that it swayed again._

_ "You are so freaking goofy sometimes, Jo," he muttered. "You bought a dress because it swishes and it's green? You make all your decisions based on those essential qualities?"_

_ "You're one to talk-you look like you're auditioning for __**Miami Vice**__," Jo answered, eyeing the rolled up sleeves of his white-dress shirt, his khakis, his green tie. _

_ "Enough bickering, you two," Mary said, smiling. "Jo, other side of Dean, and Dean, at least hold hands with her. I know you two aren't dating, but can you at least look like you can touch her?" _

_ Dean reddened, grabbing Jo's hand awkwardly, glancing at her when he did. "Well…this is uh…"_

_ "Just smile for the camera, Dean. We have dances to get to, people to impress. Smile for the camera."_

-/-

Jo watched as the paramedics led Dean to one of the stretchers, clutching the blanket wrapped around her shoulders tighter, wiping the tears out of her eyes. He was looking anywhere but at the paramedics, and her eyes caught his. He offered her the barest, thinnest of smiles, a barely-there curve. She took a step forward, and his smile waned, but she continued, ignoring how sad his face looked when she finally made it up to the ambulance. "Dean-"

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as she came up beside him, and she shook her head, hugging him as tight as he would let her. "I am-"

"Are you okay?" she interrupted him, her tears wetting his neck. "God, I was so worried after I left you. I thought he was going to kill you. I thought I was going to come back and you were going to be-"

"I'm fine Jo," he whispered, pulling away from her and reaching up his hand to wipe away her tears. "A little bruised, cut up, but no worse for wear. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise? Because you're my best friend, Dean, and if something happened to you—anything at all—I don't know what I would do. I don't know how I would-"

"Stop, Jo. I'm not allowed to say I'm sorry, and you're not allowed to think about that," he said, and she nodded. He sat back on the stretcher, patting the empty spot on the stretcher beside him. She sat down, offering him a part of her blanket, and he wrapped it around his own shoulders, his hand seeking hers', their arms pressing together from wrist to shoulder. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "John knows. He's on his way."

Dean nodded, resting his head on her shoulder, blinking. "I'm tired."

"You probably have a concussion," the paramedic said, interrupting their little moment. "You're pupils are unequal, but not blown, and your coordination is off. You need to go to the hospital."

"His foster father is coming," Jo told the paramedic. "John will make him go."

She was right, of course. John arrived in a panic—Bobby was driving, thank God, or Dean would have feared for the other drivers on the road—and immediately saw Dean, his eyes widening as he ran towards the ambulance, past the police cars, the other officers, even Mary, his eyes only on Dean, not stopping until he reached the teenager, who had stood up clumsily, the blanket dropping from his shoulders. John wrapped him in a tight hug, shaky breaths forcing their way out of John's lungs. "I was worried, Dean, so worried. I was scared that I was going to lose you and I-"

"I right here," Dean murmured, and John nodded, kissing the boy's hair. "You didn't have to come."

"Of course I had to come. My son is hurt; I need to be with him," John informed him, letting Dean go so that he could sit back on the stretcher, John's hand coming up to brush the rising bruises. "Buddy, those look pretty bad."

"He needs to go to the hospital to get them checked out," the paramedic said, and John turned from his foster son to the man. "But he's refusing."

"Oh no he's not," John answered, glancing back at Dean, ignoring his glare. "He's going to the hospital."

"John, I just want to get some sleep," Dean complained, and John shook his head.

"You need to go. You might have a concussion, your neck looks awful, and we need evidence for when the officer's report."

"I'm not reporting this."

"I'm not having this conversation with you, Dean, but you are going to the hospital and you are reporting this. No one deserves to treat you like this, and you have to be done accepting that this is the right way to treat you, because it's not," John said, kneeling in front of Dean. "Do you believe me?"

-/-

_"Are we supposed to dance?" Jo asked him as they entered the school gym, Dean keeping a tight grip on his date's hand. "Because I'm going to tell you right now, I'm not the greatest of dancers."_

_ "And you think I am?" he returned, spotting Chris coming towards him, tugging Katie behind him. "Hey, Chris."_

_ "Dean!" the teenager shouted loudly, and Dean wondered vaguely if he was drunk. He accepted the slap on the back, but moved away quickly. "You're here! You and your lady friend!"_

_ "Jo," Dean informed the other boy, stepping back to Jo. "You know her from school."_

_ "Oh, yeah," the teen giggled, and all three of the others glanced at each other. "Pretty little blond freak that you hang out with all the time."_

_ "Chris, watch what you say about her," Dean threatened softly, "she's my friend."_

_ "Sorry! I didn't know you two were so __**close**__."_

_ "C'mon, let's get away from him," Jo whispered, pulling Dean towards the dance floor as a slow song stated. They eyed each other for a minute before Dean's hands found their way to Jo's waist and her hands wrapped around his neck. _

_ They danced in silence for a song or two before Dean leaned in. "You aren't that bad of a dancer," he informed her, and she grinned._

_ "Neither are you."_

-/-

"There you go, Dean. You're fine, buddy."

He blinked, once, twice, over and over until his vision was clear. He was in a small room, John holding his hand. "What going on?" he asked, but the pain in his throat made harsh sounds come out of his mouth instead of words.

"You had to be sedated because you had to get an MRI and a CAT scan and you were very uncomfortable; the spaces reminded you of the closet," John explained, squeezing Dean's hand, the boy's eyes traveling down to the pad of paper and pen. "It's better if you write for a while."

_What happened?_ he wrote in blocky, unsure letters.

"A fight. With you an-" he shook his head, scribbling on the pad again.

_No, I remember Ethan. I remember the ambulance. What happened then?_

"You went to the hospital—against your wishes, but for my sanity—and they wanted to take an MRI of your brain to look at the concussion, I guess, and a CAT scan for your neck—to make sure it didn't damage anything. You were in one of the scanners for about two seconds before you started freaking, and I told them about the closet—don't give me that look, they needed to know—and the doctor gave you a sedative to calm you down."

_I thought I wasn't supposed to sleep with a concussion._

"No concussion. The stumbling around and stuff was just disorientation."

_Can I go home now?_

John smiled at the word _home_. "Yeah, as soon as the doctor gets back with the prescription for the swelling and the pain. Then we'll go home and you can get some sleep in your own bed."

_Am I going to have to talk to somebody?_

"Yeah, but not until you get some rest. We'll worry about it tomorrow. We'll worry about everything tomorrow."

_I know him, the guy who attacked me. His name is Elijah; he made my parents crazy. He brought me a message from my dad._

John raised his eyebrows. "And what did your father have to say?"

Dean tried to wipe the stray tears from his eyes, turning the page. _That he was disappointed in me, and that this is what happens when he gets disappointed._

"Well, we all know he's not that smart," John commented, and Dean grinned.

**A/N: This story is eventually leading to a Jo/Dean relationship, but that is way, way, way down the line. It's not a major focus (nor will it become one), so all of you who are not looking forward to that, don't worry. And don't worry, Elijah will be making another appearance or two before it's all said and done, and he will be getting his just deserts (as will Dean's parent). Don't forget to review!**


	9. Chapter Nine: Thanksgiving

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), including the part of _The Return of the King_ that I blatantly copied (pg. 112, to be exact).

**Author's Notes**: Here is the start of the holiday chapters; this was probably one of my favorite chapters to write. I hope you all enjoy it.

I don't know when I will be updating again; I have five finals starting Thursday, and so I'm hoping my days will be consumed with studying for these finals. So, probably no new chapter until after the 15th.

Enjoy, and please leave a review!

**Nine: Thanksgiving**

"I can't believe it's still there," Dean said as Jo touched the fading bruises around his neck. "It's been three and a half weeks, and I still have bruises."

"But they should be gone soon, right?" Jo asked, handing Dean her notebook. "You missed notes today. Where were you?"

"Physical therapist; I have to go every six weeks to check my arm and my shoulder. No problems, we just couldn't get a time after school. The man did ask about my neck…that was an awkward conversation. Somehow people just don't get that I got in a fistfight and I lost."

"Well, I think your first appearance back kinda shocked people Dean. You looked like you had gone fifteen rounds with a boxer and lost miserably," Jo responded as they walked up the steps towards his locker. "So, we have Thanksgiving break starting at, you know, 3:00 today. What is the Winchester family doing to celebrate this day of thanks?"

"Um…I think Mary's parents are coming down today."

"You don't seem too thrilled with that notion," Jo commented.

"I've never met the grandparents. _Ever_. Sam loves them, and Mary and John love them, but I've never met them, and I am worried, so, so worried, that they aren't going to like me."

"Dean, you are probably the least _unlikeable_ person I know. Everyone at this school likes you, and that's hard to do. You don't need to worry about that, because they will love you."

"I don't know, Jo, I'm not…families don't love me like the Winchesters do. Do you know how many foster parents brought me back? How many times I woke up after surgery just to have your Mom there, telling me that I was being moved again? Families _don't_ like me."

"Well, the Winchesters are the notable exception. And I'm sure Mary's parents aren't going to be any different. At least you aren't getting shuffled around between Lawrence and wherever-the-hell my dad has decided to move with his whore."

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Because if you don't have anywhere you want to be, you should come have dinner with me and mine. John and Mary won't mind," Dean offered, putting in his combination and opening -up the locker, exchanging one notebook for another, storing some of Jo's books in the locker. "Do you think your mom would go for it?"

"She's spending Thanksgiving in Omaha with _James_," Jo said with a shudder. "He's a nice guy and all, but I don't want to spend my holiday with him. And I certainly don't want to spend it with my father. So if Mary and John say it's okay, I'll have Thanksgiving with you."

It was the first question Dean asked Mary as he and Jo climbed into the car. Mary raised an eyebrow but smiled effortlessly. "Of course you can, Jo. We would be happy to have you, sweetheart, as long as your mom says it's okay."

Dean grinned at his foster mom, then grinned at Jo. "I told you she would go for it," he teased her, and she rolled her eyes, muttering something about "immature" and "idiot" as she looked out the window. Mary always dropped her off first before going to pick up Sam, and as it was freezing cold, Jo was grateful.

"Bye!" she called to Dean as she slammed the door to the car, leaving Dean and Mary alone in the car.

"I just wanted to let you know my parents came in this morning," Mary said quietly, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. "They're excited to meet you."

Dean just nodded, his smile fading. "Honey, please…" Mary coaxed the teenager. "It's not going to be so bad. They will love you, baby. I don't know why you think they won't, because they will. They will."

"Families don't like me," he whispered, and Mary shook her head, glancing around the road before stopping the car in a parking lot. "What are you doing?"

She got out of the car, but she shook her head when he opened the door to do the same, instead kneeling in front of the teenager, putting her hands on his knees. "No more, Dean. I _love_ you. John loves you. Sam loves you. How can you say families don't like you when our family wants you? I don't care about other families; you don't belong with other families. You belong with us, and we want you. So stop saying that families don't like you, because ours loves you and we aren't going to let you go."

"I know you sound sincere, and I know you think you mean it, but the others meant it to, and yet I was gone from all of them in days."

"Well, we're not the others, Dean, and I most certainly wouldn't be trying to adopt you had if I thought this wasn't going to work out. I know the thought of my parents scares you, but you have _nothing_ to worry about."

He nodded, looking away from her as she reached her hand up, cupping his cheek. "You really think they'll like me?"

"They're idiots if they don't, Dean. And my parents aren't idiots," she said, returning to the driver's seat. "Now, can we go get Sam or are do you need some more time to contemplate your place in our family?"

He smiled at her, and she started the car.

-/-

Samuel Campbell studied the picture of Dean that sat on the shelf of family photos in his daughter's living room, trying to discern what type of kid his daughter and her husband had taken in. "Sit down, Samuel," Deanne chided her husband, rolling her eyes. "Mary already said he was nervous; you will scare our new grandson, and I happen to want another one to spoil."

"I'm not going to scare him," Samuel muttered to her, but he sat nonetheless. "Kids love me."

"Kids that haven't been abused for the past eight years, dear," Deanne reminded her husband, patting his arm.

"Spoilsport."

"Yes well, someone needs to remind you that he isn't a normal child, and he isn't Sam."

Samuel grinned at his wife, leaning in to kiss her. They broke apart as the door opened, and Samuel smiled instantly as he heard his grandson's bright chatter. Footsteps shuffled across the wood floor, and finally—finally!—they were in view. Deanne stood as Sam came barreling at her, kissing his forehead when he wrapped his arms around her. "Grandma!" he whispered as she hugged him. "I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too, Sam," she answered, letting him go after a moment, turning to look at the boy trailing behind Mary, his head down, staring at his feet. She was going to greet him, but she instead hugged her daughter. "You look good, Mary. When is John going to be home?"

"Soon, I think," Mary said, turning back to Dean, her hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling him forward. "Mom, Dad, this is Dean, our foster son. Dean, this is my mom Deanne, my dad Samuel."

Dean finally looked up, and Deanne _knew_ he was perfect. He tried for a smile, but the edges of his lips barely curled. "Hi, Mrs. Campbell."

"Deanne, Dean, I insist," she answered, giving him a brief hug. "It's nice to meet you. Mary's always gushing about you, and I can see that my daughter tells no lies."

Dean tensed up at the contact, pulling away as quickly as possible. "I'm going upstairs; I've got some work to do."

He gave a glance to Samuel before embarking up the steps. "I'm sorry, Dad. He's nervous," Mary explained, looking at the staircase.

"It's okay, Mary, of course he's nervous…" Samuel trailed off as Dean came back down the steps, biting his bottom lip. He walked to the small group, holding out his hand to the older man.

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Campbell," he grounded out, and Samuel smiled as he took the hand. "Sorry, I'm…I'm not so good with…"

"It's nice to meet you, Dean," Samuel interrupted. "I heard you are trying out for the baseball team this winter."

Samuel knew baseball was a safe topic for Dean; Mary had told him as much. And it was a relief when Dean gave him a real smile, nodding. "Yeah-catcher, hopefully, if my shoulder is okay. I was going to try out for pitcher, John says I'm good at that, too, but the therapist doesn't think my shoulder's going to make it through that."

"Catcher's a good spot. Sammy here doesn't follow baseball—I know soccer is more your sport, Sam, and that's okay—but I always wanted a catcher in the family. I played second base myself, and from how John talks sometimes, you would think he the second Babe Ruth or something."

Dean's smile grew, and Mary let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "John is good at baseball," he admitted, stepping closer, his courage that had seemed to fail when he first met the grandparents flaring again. "Sam wouldn't stop talking about how cool you guys were in the car."

Samuel chuckled—if only to see his youngest grandson blush—before replying, "it's funny, because he didn't stop talking about his new brother when he called us."

"You know, I'm in the room," Sam muttered, and Dean grinned at him, finally feeling _at home_ with his new grandparents.

-/-

_"Get up!"_

_ He grimaced, blinking a couple of times to clear his vision, sitting up in his bed. "Dad?" he whispered, sleep still laced through his voice. "Dad, you said we had a day off, sir."_

_ "Get up!"_

_ He didn't have to be told twice. He stumbled out of his small bed, reaching out to grab his jacket, retracting his hand at his father's steely look. He followed the man down the steps, out the back door, shivering with the cold as he followed the man to the nearly-frozen lake in the back of the property. "Dad?" he questioned, standing at the edge of the lake._

_ "Get in."_

_ His father's stony voice made Dean jump, glancing back at his father. "It's freezing, Dad. I'll die…"_

_ "Get in!"_

_ He bit his bottom lip, taking one step into the water, shivering. "Dad-"_

_ "Get in and get to the middle. You have thirty seconds."_

_ He trudged forward, trying to think of someplace warm. When he reached the middle of the lake, he turned back to face his father. "Now dive to the very bottom."_

_ Oh, God, he was going to die. His father was going to make him kill himself. He was going to—_

"Dean!" Hands clutched his shoulder as his eyes opened wide, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. "It's okay," John's voice soothed him, the hands rubbing soothingly up and down his arms. "It's just a dream, buddy. You're safe. Wake up."

"John?" His voice cracked, and he winced, sitting up. "Did I wake you?"

"I think you woke the whole household, buddy. Something about how cold it was and how you were going to die."

"Last year for Thanksgiving my father made me walk into the lake on the property and stay there for the day. I thought I was going to drown," Dean whispered, taking the glass of water John handed him. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake anyone up."

"You know it doesn't bother us except for the fact that your nightmares bother you," John replied, the same reply he always gave when Dean apologized for his nightmares. He ran a hand through Dean's hair, smiling. "You think you could get some more sleep? It's only four."

"In the morning?" he groaned, shaking his head. "Yeah, I want to get some more sleep; I don't think I'll be able to for awhile."

"What if I give you one of your pills? I know you don't want them, but…"

Dean shook his head, then winced at the pain the motion brought. "No pills."

John nodded, looking around the room. He picked up the book Dean had tossed on his desk before going to bed the night before, sitting on the bed beside the teenager. "Where'd you leave off?" he asked, and Dean eyed the man.

"I'm not six, John."

"Where'd you leave off?"

"I'm starting chapter six."

John nodded, flipping to the page, making sure Dean was comfortable before he started reading. "Chapter six, the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

"But it was no orc-chieftan or brigand that led the assault upon Gondor. The darkness was breaking too soon, before the date that his Master had set for it: fortune had betrayed him for the moment, and the world had turned against him; victory was slipping from his grasp even as he stretched out his hand to seize it. But his arm was long. He was still in command, wielding great powers. King, Ringwraith Lord of the Nazgûl, he had many weapons. He left the Gate and vanished.

"Théoden King of the Mark had reached the road from the Gate to the River, and he turned towards the City that was now less than a mile distant. He slackened his speed a little, seeking new foes, and his knights came about him, and Dernhelm was with them. Ahead nearer the walls Elfhelm's men were among the siege-engines, hewing, slaying, driving their foes into the fire-pits. Well nigh all the northern half of Pelennor was overrun, and there camps were blazing, orcs were flying towards the River like herds before the hunters; and the Rohirrim went hither and thither at their will…"

His voice was soft and warm, and as Dean listened, he felt the pull of haziness bringing him back to sleep. John was surprised to hear the teenager's breathing soften not ten minutes after he began reading, leveling off after fifteen. Still, he kept reading for another ten minutes, to ensure that Dean was indeed asleep. After he closed and set _The Return of the King_ on the nightstand by Dean's lamp, he pulled the comforter up to Dean's shoulders, his hand touching the remains of the bruises that still resided on Dean's neck. "Sleep well," he whispered, standing, walking quickly across the room, turning off the lights as he left.

Mary was still awake when he entered their bedroom, reading her own book. John smiled softly, slipping back beneath the covers. "I'm convinced he gets his love of reading from you."

"I was wondering why it took you so long. Usually I can get him back asleep in five or ten minutes," Mary teased him, closing her own book, setting it on the shelf of her bedside table.

"I was reading to him; I don't have your magical powers that settle him back down."

She nodded, leaning in to give him a kiss. "You know," she whispered in his ear, pressing another kiss below his ear. "I'm up, and you're up, and the boys are asleep."

It was all the suggestion he needed.

-/-

Dean realized how much he had changed since coming to the Winchesters took him in when he willingly stood beside John and he let the man put his hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently. "What do you think?" John asked, nodding to the table, to the food that looked mouthwatering and that Mary wouldn't let him help cook. "Could you get used to this?"

Dean looked around the room, to Mary, to Sam, to Jo, to the grandparents, and he nodded. "Yeah, I could get used to this."

"Good. We have it every year, on Thanksgiving. Doesn't matter where you are, what you are doing, you come home for Thanksgiving. I won't ever forgive you if you miss Thanksgiving," Mary whispered, kissing his forehead. "It's a time for families, and like it or not, you're part of our family now."


	10. Chapter Ten: Friendship

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: So, this chapter has taken _way_ longer than I ever planned and turned out to be nothing like what I was expecting. I wanted this to be the Christmas chapter (seeing how Christmas has just passed), but alas, I have not gotten to my favorite holiday.

This chapter deals with Dean's friendship with Chris, his baseball buddy, and it's important for the future story. Hopefully, I'll update by Monday with the _actual_ Christmas chapter.

Please review; I love reviews, and they make my day.

**Ten: Friendship**

Dean had very few happy memories from Christmastime. Nearly all were vague, faded from his mind from the years it had been since he had _had_ a happy anything. He remembered the joy of receiving a toy he had really wanted, the feeling of love as he and his mom made cookies for Santa, helping his father with the tree. As the years had gone forward, as his father had entered his craziness, the memories became fewer and farther apart, until they completely stopped.

He sat in the living room now, watching the snow coming down, wondering how the Winchesters had made out on their tree hunt. They had wanted Dean to come, wanted him to experience the start of their Christmas, but the thought of tree hunting brought out memories of his father, and he had politely declined, enjoying his first night of the holiday break with a book he had been saving for after the stress of finals.

Except he wasn't reading. He was staring out the window and waiting for the Winchesters to come home.

He should have gone with them.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a sharp knock on the front door. He tensed, wondering whether he should answer it, before tossing the book to the empty space on the couch and standing.

"Chris," he murmured as he opened the door. "You know, it's kinda late for a visit."

His friend nodded, his eyes darting around the porch before coming back to rest on Dean. "Can I come in?" he asked, his voice shaky. Dean nodded, moving out of the way as Chris stepped inside. His friend looked around the house, then at the couch and the abandoned book. "Where are the Winchesters?"

"Getting a tree," Dean answered. "Why are you here?"

"I needed to talk with John."

"About?"

"My father's drunk at the house. He usually doesn't drink, and especially not when he knows that I'm coming, but I guess he had a rough day at work and he's drinking a lot and I need John to sober him up. I tried and he almost killed me."

Dean finally noticed the swelling on the side of Chris' head, the swollen and cut knuckles, ,the dark staining on his long-sleeve shirt. "Where's your mom?"

"Minnesota for a week. My stepfather has family there, and most of the time I go with them, but I barely see my dad and this opportunity came up…I should have gone with my mom," Chris replied, almost to himself. "I bet you didn't know that about me, did you? That my parents are divorced, my mom's remarried, and my dad's the resident town drunk?"

"Your life sounds almost as screwed up as mine," Dean answered as he retrieved an ice-pack and the first aid kit from the kitchen. "You know, one thing I'm grateful for in this town is that no one really asks why I don't live with my real parents, even though they know that something happened and that I haven't been with the Winchesters long."

"Just like you didn't ask about mine?" Chris replied with a grin, taking the ice-pack. "Why did Mary and John take you in?"

"My father tried to murder me; he did murder several other people. He tried to make me kill a twelve-year-old girl. He was crazy. He _is_ crazy," Dean said, his voice soft, searching through the first-aid kit for the hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs. "You're the first person at our school outside of Jo that I told that to. I hope I don't find it going around the school when we go back."

Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Do I have any room to talk? My father has wreaked havoc in this town because he's been drunk, and nobody says anything to me. I'm lucky to have my stepfather, just like you're lucky to have Mary and John."

Dean didn't answer, biting his lip hard. "Where are you bleeding from besides your knuckles?"

Chris looked at him, confused, and Dean nodded to the dark stains on his shirt. "Oh, from my forearm," Chris explained, raising his arm so Dean could see the thick, shallow cuts that peppered the underside of his forearm. "So why does Jo know about your dad and not anyone else?"

"Jo's mom is my social worker."

Chris winced at the hydrogen peroxide as it touched the cuts. "Is that why you and Jo are so close?"

Dean nodded. "She knew me when I was all messed up. My dad hurt me badly before I was taken from my house. Messed up my shoulder and everything. I've had a lot of surgeries on it and I still don't know how well it's going to hold out. Jo was at some get-together the Winchesters were having, and I made a comment about being a freak, and she told me that I wasn't. We've been good friends ever since."

"Jo sounds like a good friend to have. I never really liked her, mostly because my girlfriend didn't like her for some odd reason, but she seems like a pretty cool chic," Chris admitted. "Don't ever tell her I said that."

"Jo is a good friend, but I think I'm starting to realize that you're a good friend, too."

Chris didn't answer, letting Dean clean out the cuts and bandage them. "Are your parents in jail?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. The trial is supposed to start in January."

"Will you have to testify?"

Dean nodded.

"I've had to do that before, with my father."

"It's going to suck," Dean admitted. "So you were supposed to stay with your alcoholic father for Christmas?"

"Yeah. I really wanted to stay; I don't know why. I think I hurt my stepfather too…maybe all this is payback for that, because my stepfather took me in when my own father didn't love me," Chris said, shaking his head. "It's not…I should have thought about it more."

"I'm sure your stepfather would say that you _didn't _deserve this, Chris. No one deserves that," Dean replied, tossing the hydrogen peroxide-soaked cotton balls into the trashcan before retrieving the tube of Neosporin Mary kept in the kit. "He seems like a pretty good guy."

"He is. I was ….six when my mom met him; he was my Little League coach and I had gotten in a fight with one of the older kids."

"You still get in fights with the older kids," Dean joked, and Chris gave him a vague smile, rolling his eyes, catching the headlights of the truck as they pulled into the driveway.

"They're back," Chris said, and Dean gave him a look that said _like I didn't know that_. "Dean, maybe I should just go home. I-"

"Or you can talk to John and stay here until your mom can pick you up," Dean replied. "John's not so bad to talk to, and Mary's even better. I should know; I've had to talk and talk and talk about all my problems. Just…stay here."

Dean opened the front door, smiling at Sam as he ran in, bringing the cold with him. "You missed out," Sam informed him, stopping when he saw the other teenager in the house. "Who's that?"

"You remember my friend Chris, right? He's one of the guys on the baseball team."

"Oh, yeah."

"Where's your dad?"

"He and Mom are working on the tree. I'm getting the hot chocolate ready."

"I'm going to go help them. Keep Chris company, will yah?" The ten-year-old nodded, and Dean smiled, grabbing his coat before heading out to help John and Mary. "Success?" he called out to them, and John grinned, gesturing to the tree.

"I'd say so. You missed out, kid," John responded as Mary kissed his forehead. "How was your time?"

"Okay, I guess. One of my friends—Chris—showed up, and…he needs to talk to you John."

The detective looked up, curious. "Everything all right?"

"I don't really know, to be honest."

"Let's get the tree in, and then we can talk in the kitchen," John answered, and Dean gave him a smile. "This is your baseball friend, right?"

Dean nodded, grabbing the tree where John motioned. "I'm sorry I didn't come with you."

"There's always next year, honey," Mary replied, smiling. "Don't worry about it. As long as you help us decorate the tree, that's all I ask."

"Of course I will," Dean assured her as they stepped into the house, all eyes immediately going to Chris, who sat on the couch leafing through the forgotten book. His fingers stopped moving the page as he looked up, his body tensing in nervousness.

He watched as Dean and John placed the tree with Mary's helpful suggestions before standing when they turned to him, offering his hand out when Dean introduced him. "Hi, Mr. Winchester. I'm sorry about barging in like this…"

"It's not a problem. Why don't we talk in the kitchen, son? It's a little more private."

Chris nodded uncertainly, glancing at Dean before following John to the kitchen. Dean's eyes lingered on them as Chris started talking, but he turned back to Mary when she put a hand on his shoulder, half-hugging him. "We really missed you tonight," she told him. "Will you tell me what happened? You seemed okay to go and then-"

"One of the last memories I have-the good ones, anyway—of Christmas is of me and my father getting a Christmas tree. We used to always get one. Before…before the craziness started," Dean responded. "I guess I just…you guys talked about going to get a tree and it reminded me of Dad and I just got a little overwhelmed."

"It's understandable," Mary answered. "So what's with the friend?"

"Chris' mom and stepfather are out of town, and Chris is supposed to be staying with his dad, but I guess his dad drank a lot tonight and Chris can't reach his mom."

"Poor kid. I remember him from when you went to the batting cages, but I haven't-"

"He's not as close to me as say Jo or Tyler, but he's the closest of my baseball friends. I didn't realize until tonight how much he confides in me; I think we're bonding."

Mary nodded, turning back to the tree. "What do you think about silver garland this year? We've had gold in the past, but I think it's time for a change, and I think we should go with silver."

Dean laughed, rolling his eyes. "Sure, silver is fine. Do you have any homemade ornaments from Sam?" He asked in a teasing voice, grinning at Sam. "I'm sure you were a bona fide artist then, weren't you?"

"Hey, my ornaments are the _stars _of our Christmas tree," Sam said defensively, looking at his mom. "Right?"

She nodded conspiratorially. "Always. Dean, we'll have to get you to make some ornaments so the tree isn't overloaded in Sam love."

"I don't think-" he stopped talking as Chris' voice rose.

"I can't do that, Mr. Winchester. I'm sorry. He's my father and I can't-he'll go to jail again. I don't want him to do that," Chris said, running his hands through his hair. "I just thought-"

"Son, if he's drinking and he's been arrested and _jailed_ for drinking, he's most definitely violating his parole. He's endangering you, especially if he gets pissy when he's drunk. I can't just turn a blind eye to that," John said in the same calm and soothing voice he used when trying to settle Dean's nightmares "I'm sorry, Chris-"

"You're not even listening!" the teenager shouted, frantic. "He's my dad; I can't do that to him! I'm sorry I came here, I just…I'm going to go home now." He twisted away from John, his wide eyes catching the rest of the family. "I'm sorry I disturbed you guys. Really sorry."

Dean watched him open the front door, glanced back at John, and hurried after his friend. "Chris, wait!" he yelled, the chilly air forgotten as he chased his friend down. "Chris, stop! I'll chase you the whole way back to your house; it's really your choice," he called, watching as his friend stopped dead in his tracks, his breath coming out fast as his heart raced.

He stopped beside Chris, not looking at his friend. "I guess your talk with John did not go well?"

"He wants to arrest my dad; I can't let that happen. Dad's been to jail before; if he goes back for the same reason, they'll strip all visitation from him when he gets out. I love my dad."

"John's just worried. He doesn't like it when someone is hurting their kid."

"He hasn't done anything to me."

Dean cast a doubtful look at his friend, shaking his head. "Have you seen your face lately? You are going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

"My dad's left one hell of a bruise on me before. It turned in to two bruises, and that turned in to four, and then a torn rotator cuff and a separated shoulder and….and a back full of scars of meaningless symbols," Dean whispered, and Chris looked away from him. "That's what's going to happen if you let him get away with one bruise. One turns into two, and two into three, and...it doesn't stop unless you make it stop."

"That's very inspiring and all Dean, but it doesn't change my mind. I won't be the cause of my father's arrest…I won't."

"Just talk to John, Chris. Maybe you guys can work something out that doesn't involve your father's arrest."

Chris didn't answer for a long time, and Dean wondered if he was even still listening to him. "If I go back, I can't…I _won't_ say anything against him."

"Just talk to John, Chris. You came here for some help, so let him help. He's good at it, I promise…probably one of the best. Maybe it won't involve your father going to prison. Maybe John can get him some help. But all those maybes mean nothing if you don't _talk_ to someone!"

"Okay, Dean."

"Okay?"

Chris nodded once.

"Okay."

-/-

John gave Chris an easy smile when the door opened as he walked in, granting his foster son a bigger one. "I was about to start looking for you," he called from the kitchen, and Dean shrugged, putting his jacket back on the coat rack.

"No need," Dean said, sitting down on the couch by Mary, eyes on Chris as he once again followed John into the kitchen. Dean could make out the apology Chris offered John, the way John said "don't worry about it" in his easy, calm tone so ingrained in memory that he didn't need to see John say the words. "So, where are these homemade ornaments we were so eagerly discussing? I wish to appraise Sam's artistic ability."

Sam made a face at him, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him, and John and Chris were pushed to the back of Dean's head as he, Mary and Sam worked on decorating the tree.

"You're sure?" he heard nearly an hour later, turning to see Chris sitting at the bar, a phone in hand. "Steve, I don't want to interrupt your time with your…okay. Yeah, I'll give you directions to the Winchesters once you get back in town. Thanks, Steve….yeah, I know. I'll see you tomorrow."

Chris looked up at Dean as he turned off the phone. "My stepdad. They're driving down to get me. I told him he didn't have to, that I could get into the house and everything, but he said that Christmas was meant to be spent together as a family. And that they miss me. And that they aren't angry…"

Dean nodded, looking at the tree. "So, you want to help? We're almost done, but…"

"Sure, I can help."

It was later, after the tree was decorated, hot chocolate was drank, and more memories—good memories—were made that Dean led Chris up to his room, nodding to the couch. "It's not exactly the most comfortable thing, but it'll do for a night."

"Thanks again for this, Dean. If I had gone to any of my other friends…I don't know that they'd be so…understanding."

"It's not a problem."

Chris worked for a minute fixing the sheets on the couch, then turned. "You know earlier when you said that bruises lead to messed up shoulders and meaningless symbols?" Dean nodded. "What were you talking about?"

Dean stood there, hard, emotions hidden, before reaching for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up as he turned around so Chris could see the symbols. "My dad used to carve them into my back after my 'training lessons'. Nearly every day, he was slicing me open. I used to think they proved what a freak I was."

"You aren't a freak," Chris replied, staring at the scars. "I bet those hurt when he did them."

"Just like I'm sure the punches hurt," Dean shot back, and Chris hung his head. "I hope he's at least getting help."

"I…We called his P.O. officer. He's getting my dad into a treatment center. _Again_. I told Dad—he called me after the P.O. got him—that this is the last time. He starts drinking again, he hits me again…I won't talk to him ever again. I told him that it was a luxury being able to see me, and that it can get taken away."

"Maybe your father will get the message."

"I can hope, right?"

Chris went to sleep after that, and Dean laid in his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, willing the nightmares to stay away. He jumped at the light knock on his door, sitting up as John walked in, a wrapped gift in his hands. "I didn't think you were sleeping," John whispered in apology. "Chris' parents will be here in the morning."

"I know. Thank you for helping him, by the way."

"Of course, Dean. I'll do everything in my power to help any of your friends in trouble."

"What's that?" Dean asked instead of answering John. John held out the gift. "John, we still have a week until Christmas."

"Well, we wanted you to open this one early." Dean eyed John curiously, but accepted the gift, hands resting on the ribbon.

"Is it going to explode on me?" He asked with a smirk, and John cuffed him in the back of the head gently before Dean began untying the bow.

Inside the box was a piece of paper; on the piece of paper two words: January Fifteenth. "What's January fifteenth?" Dean asked.

"That's the date we meet with the judge concerning your adoption."

Dean's mind stopped. There were no memories of bad Christmases, of faded and old memories of a family he lost. There were no thoughts of Chris and his troubles, and there were no thoughts of the upcoming trial. Instead, there was only thoughts of the future, and how bright it could be.

A new Christmas memory was formed.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Christmas

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.N. Brown

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: Finally, the Christmas chapter! I hope you all enjoy, and please, read and **review**. I feel like this story isn't as liked as it once was because I'm only getting two or three reviews per chapter, and believe me it damages the self esteem a little. So please, if you have time, send me a review!

**Eleven: Christmas**

Dean stared at the piece of paper John had given him, his hand trailing over the date. January 15th…exactly one week before his father's murder trial started, and nine days before his fifteenth birthday. His whole life would be changing within a nine-day period, and it was a little scary.

"Stop thinking those angsty thoughts on Christmas," Sam called from his doorway, and Dean grinned, putting the piece of paper back on his desk before turning to his foster brother. "Aren't you excited?"

"You do realize its only six o'clock in the morning, don't you?" he replied, and Sam nodded.

"That's all part of the fun," Sam explained. "Now hurry up!"

Dean did as asked, standing from the desk and racing Sam down the steps, surprised to see Mary and John already up and breakfast waiting. He glanced to the living room, where the tree had presents piled up beneath it, and overfilled stockings hung from the mantle. He smiled in amazement, accepting Mary's "Merry Christmas" with a similar reply, feeling John's hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Merry Christmas, John," he whispered, and John grinned.

"Merry Christmas, son."

He didn't fumble over _son_, didn't stutter as if it was unnatural, like Dean would have done if he was referring to John as _Dad_. He didn't say it dripped in sarcasm, as Dean's father often did, nor as if he was disappointed. He sounded…he sounded like he had always called Dean _son_.

He sounded like Dean had always participated in Christmas Day traditions, in breakfast and opening presents. He sounded like Dean had always been a part of the family.

"Dean, are you going to eat?" Mary asked, shaking him from his thoughts, and he looked at her, nodding. "C'mon. Sam gets impatient to open gifts and he won't give you a moment's piece until you are done, too."

"I do not!" Sam responded from the table, nearly inhaling his food. He was halfway done before Dean sat down, and Dean gently teased him about his mother's words when he finished and then stared at Dean as if saying _you need to hurry up and get done, too_.

John and Sam went to the living room after breakfast, but Dean stayed behind, helping Mary clear all the dishes. "Honey, you don't have to help," she said, taking the plates from him. "It's our tradition; John gets everything sorted in there and I take care of finishing up here. He cleans the dishes from Christmas dinner."

"I'd like to help," Dean replied, grabbing the dishtowel from the rack and drying the dishes. "I thought your mom and dad were going to be here."

"They'll be in shortly; they know Christmas breakfast is just for me and John and Sam and you. It's our little family tradition. We'll open presents now, hang out—I'm sure some football game will be on, and John loves football on Christmas—and then we have Christmas dinner tonight."

"Jo and Ellen are coming over for that," Dean said, and Mary nodded. "Thank you for helping me with Jo's present. I wasn't sure what to get her-"

"She'll love it," Mary reassured him, taking the last dish from him. "Go on; we start opening presents as soon as I get in there, so you better be ready. It turns chaotic."

Chaotic didn't begin to describe the melee that occurred when the Winchesters opened presents. It was _war_. It started with Sam opening his first present (some video game he had wanted _forever_) and tossing the ball of wrapping paper at John, hitting him square in the face. "Oops," Sam deadpanned when his father glared at him, and he simply grinned when John promised revenge.

Dean ducked the first wad of paper that was sent sailing his way, but couldn't missing the second one. He sent Sam a withering look, launching his own volleys, smirking when they hit their target, one after another after another.

"Hey, no fair!" Sam called, and Dean made some comment about "all's fair in love and war" before launching another attack. "Dean!"

Dean grinned at the kid, stopping his barrage of paper bullets. "Fine—no more attacking me, though, 'kay?" Sam nodded, and Dean turned to his first present, a pair of cleats that he would need come tryouts. "Thank you, Samuel, Deanne," he murmured, giving them a smile.

After all but his last present was opened, he was in awe of how thoughtful the gifts were, and how many he had received. He stared at the last present, a small box, and glanced around to see that everyone else was watching him, too. They had finished awhile ago, and they all seemed eager as he started on the gift wrap. He watched as baseball-ticket stubs fell out, 26 in all. "Umm…"

"There's something on the back of them," Mary supplied helpfully, and he nodded, turning one of the stubs over, his eyebrow edging up curiously when he saw the scrawled _I_ and the number _8_ on the back. He worked on getting the stubs in the correct order, and paused for a minute after he got them in the correct order.

"Well, are you going to tell us what it says?" John asked, and Dean nodded, looking back at the stubs.

"We're going to the World Series." He sucked in a breath, his head jerking up. "Really? The World Series-"

"Game One, you, me, and Sam," John answered with a smile. "Do you like it?"

"I think that's an understatement, John; I'm…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm totally…this is so awesome. I love it, John. Thank you guys so much!"

He hugged John tight, the first hug he had ever _willingly_ given the man, and John let out a breath, hugging Dean back. "You should have seen your face when the stubs started falling out."

"I had no clue what was going on," Dean said, shaking his head. "This is so great…"

"So you like it? You're not lying just for my sake, just for Mary's?"

"John, this is probably the second greatest present I've gotten."

"What's the first?" John asked curiously as Dean pulled away.

"January 15th."

John and Mary understood perfectly.

-/-

Jo smiled at Dean when he opened the door, hugging him tight in greeting. "Well, hello to you to," Dean said, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. "How's your Christmas been?"

"Dad's was boring," she answered. "You?"

"Mine's been…interesting. I'll have to tell you about it."

"I'm intrigued," Jo replied as she pulled away from Dean and they let Ellen in. They soon retreated upstairs, laying side-by-side on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "So, what is this interesting news you have to tell me?"

"Did you know Chris' father is a drunk?"

"I thought everyone in town knew that," Jo answered, turning her head to look at Dean. "Didn't you know that?"

"No. But, anyway, he showed up here at the beginning of break, all roughed up. Apparently he was staying with his father for Christmas while his mom and his stepfather went up to Minnesota to visit with his family. I guess he usually goes with them, but his father wanted him to stay with him, and Chris agreed. His father had come home and started drinking; he came here for John's help."

"Poor Chris."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I expected that from you."

"Why? I might not like him, but no one deserves that. I hope John was able to help."

"Of course he was; Chris' mother and stepfather drove home from Minnesota and picked him up the next morning. I'm pretty sure they went back up to Minnesota. John was able to get his father into a treatment center. I thought I was the only one with really screwed up parents-"

"You're not the only freak in this town?" Jo supplied helpfully, and Dean laughed, nodding. "You know I don't really think you're a freak, right?"

"Of course I know that, Jo. I would never doubt that."

She nodded, biting her lip as she looked back at the ceiling. "Dean, you…"

"Jo."

She stopped talking, turning her head and pressing her lips against Dean's. She wished he would respond, wished he would do something, but pulled away embarrassed when he tensed instead. "I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, sitting up, ducking her head.

"No, Jo-" he said, reaching out to touch her arm before she got off the bed. "Don't be like that. I-you're my best friend. I love you, and I would do anything for you, but I'm not ready for this. I'm only fourteen—you're only fourteen—and we still have loads of time to be more than friends. But we're just kids right now, and I have a whole bunch of crap on my plate that's threatening to topple over, and I don't want to add any type of romantic relationship on top of that."

"I feel so dumb," she whispered, pushing hair out of her face. "I thought-I don't know what I was thinking, but-"

"One day, Jo, you can kiss me again and I promise you that I'll kiss back; I'm just not ready right now."

Jo nodded, chuckling. "So we can put this awkward moment in the back of our minds? Because this is…very awkward."

"Yeah, we can put this in the back of our minds. Nothing changes, Jo. You are my best friend; you'll always be my best friend," Dean promised, squeezing her hand. "Do you want your present?"

"Yours is downstairs."

"We can get it at dinner." Dean opened the drawer to his nightstand, pulling out a box. "If you can't tell, Mary wrapped it."

"I'd love to see your wrapping job," Jo joked, tearing into the wrapping paper. Inside was a necklace, sterling silver, with two pendants separated by a small green emerald with an emerald on either side of the pendants.

"I know how much you like Celtic mythology and all that, so this is for you. The dolphin represents friendship in Celtic mythology, and the dragon is seen as a protector, a hero. To me, they fit you perfectly," Dean explained, taking the necklace from her and putting it on her. "Do you like it? You can be honest…I'm-"

"I love it, Dean, thank you," she interrupted him, fingering the small, lifelike pendants. "It's beautiful. Where did you find it?"

"Mary took me to this small, out of the way shop that sells a little bit of everything in Topeka, and we found that."

"Wait here, 'kay?" Jo said suddenly, getting off the bed. She was back before Dean could say anything, holding her own small package. "Open it."

He did, eyes scrunching in confusion at the horned metal amulet staring back up at him, hanging onto a black cord. "Okay, what is it?"

"I found it at some kooky thrift store and it reminded me of you. I know you're not the necklace-type of person, but I figured it might have a chance."

"It's cool, Jo. Wacky, but very cool," Dean answered, slipping the cord over his neck. "I like it. I'm not sure why, but…this is so cool. Thank you."

"I'm sure it doesn't compare to the World Series game, but-"

"No, but it doesn't have to. I haven't had a true Christmas in years; you'd be surprised at how much I appreciate everything I got in all kinds of different ways. The cleats, which I'm going to need for baseball, the plethora of movies Sam got me because he knew I wanted to see them, the books Mary knew I wanted to read…everything means something to me. So maybe this necklace doesn't compare to World Series tickets, it's awesome and wonderful all on its own. So thank you."

"For some kid repressed for so many years, you certainly have a way with words, Dean," Jo informed him, and he smirked, laying back down on the bed, waiting for her to join him. He felt the mattress dip, and smiled when Jo made a comment about the ceiling.

Awkward moment forgotten.

"I'm thinking about calling my mother."

Jo stopped talking, twisting her head to stare at him, mouth agape. "What? Why?"

"She was found to be mentally incompetent—I think she made a plea bargain with the prosecutors of her case, but she's going to be at a mental facility until she dies. She's going to turn state evidence against my father. I might call her today, for Christmas."

"Why? Why would you ever call her, Dean, after she tortured you? After she was so awful to you…"

"Because if forgiveness helps her, then why shouldn't I? She'll always be my mom, and if it's true, what the workers at the facility have been telling John, then she won't ever forgive herself, so my forgiveness can't hurt. And she realizes that she was wrong, that she was cruel, that she took away innocent people's lives, and she's trying to make it better. Should I not make an effort—maybe just a one-time effort—to help her get started?"

Jo's hand tightened around his , and he turned his head to look at her. It occurred to him at that moment that all the penultimate parts of their conversations happened then—when he turned his head and she turned her head and they looked at each other—but that thought was shoved to the back of his mind when she asked, "have you talked to John about this, then?"

"Now, would I be discussing the ramifications of my actions if I had already talked to John?" he answered with a wry smirk. "I feel like he's going to be the wrench in my plan. He just wants to protect me, and he's the one that saw me that first day, in the basement—he's seen the damage my parents can inflict."

"He has a right to be the wrench."

"Yeah, he does. And I know…my adoption hearing's the fifteenth, and he's going to be worried that I don't want to be a Winchester anymore, which is dead wrong, by the way. I just want to give my mom a chance to earn my forgiveness."

"Why would I think you don't want to be part of our family?" John asked, scaring the two kids. "You two should be used to this by now, guys. You're up here, having some all-important conversation, and I come interrupt you. Dinner is almost ready."

"I'm just gonna go downstairs," Jo said, giving Dean a look before she exited his room.

John sat beside Dean on the bed, and Dean reluctantly laid back down, flat on his back, after John did. "You seem to do a lot of thinking—and talking to Jo—in this position."

"I like to look at the ceiling," Dean admitted. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I want to know, Dean; whatever's on your mind is bothering you, and you shouldn't be bothered on Christmas."

"I want to call my mom, just to wish her a Merry Christmas and to tell her…to tell her that I forgive her for everything she put me through," Dean whispered in a small voice, regretting the words when John tensed.

"You know your mother did just as much damage to you as your father, right?" John reminded Dean, who nodded.

"I know, but she's the one that's admitting that. She's the one trying to rectify what she's done. I just want to tell her that for the first time in a long, long time, I'm proud of her. I don't forgive her for what she did to other people—that's not my forgiveness she needs to seek—but I do forgive her for hurting me."

-/-

Dean pressed the phone against his ear as he stared out the window. He knew John's eyes were on him—could almost _feel_ the stare—but he needed to do this. "Hello?" the voice said, and he barely recognized it. His mother's voice had always been screech and high, and this one on the phone was battered. He wondered if it was the commitment of his mother to the psychiatric hospital, or if maybe the realization—because she had, indeed, come to the realization—that she had been living a lie and torturing her child was taking it's toll.

"Hi, Mom."

There was a pause on the phone, but he could hear her breathing, harsh but even. "Dean."

"Yeah. My foster father told me that they had moved you and that you could have phone calls, and so I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Why?'

"Why, what, Mom?"

"Why would you ever want to talk to me when I treated you so horribly?" she replied. "I don't know how I got caught up in it, like your father, especially now that it feels like I'm seeing the world so clearly and that my actions were obviously…crazed."

"So you are feeling better?" He felt like his voice betrayed him as a scared little boy, and he pulled away from the phone, letting out several breaths before putting the phone back up to his ear. "Mom?"

"Yes, Dean, I am. I feel like I've let you down, with what I did to you. I hope your new family is treating you like you deserve."

"They are, Mom. The Winchesters…they want to adopt me." He scratched his chin, biting his lip. "I want them to adopt me."

"I'm glad. I want you to know that I'm going to testify against your father. I can't take back what we did to you, what we did to all those other people, but I can make sure we both pay for it. You deserve someone to stick up for you."

"I have that, Mom, with John and Mary."

"They treat you well-"

"Better than you ever did."

"That's…good. I'm glad. Thank you for calling, Dean; you don't know how much it means to me."

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

"Merry Christmas, son."

He hung up the phone when heard the dial tone, staring out the window, into the darkness. "I take it it didn't go so well?" John asked from behind him, and Dean shrugged.

"She seemed…better."

"She's getting help. It's supposed to make her better," John replied, and Dean nodded. "Are you okay, Dean? You don't seem-"

"I'm fine, John. It's just…I don't remember my mom _ever_ being that clearheaded and coherent. I just-why couldn't she ever be like that _with_ me? Why did it take this to make her like that?"

John didn't have an answer—a good one, at least—so he simply gave Dean a hug, and lead him back to his family, hoping they could make him forget the woman that clearly forgot him.

**A/N:** yes, I know that the world series tickets don't go on sale in December, thus the basis of the stubs' idea. And yes, Dean's mom **will** be testifying at his father's trial, so there's that. Again, please review, and everyone have a good day!


	12. Chapter Twelve: Closure

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: Sorry about the long wait; I finally (after a week of no school due to snow) started school, and my capstone course in kicking my butt (and it's only the first week!). Updates will probably be slow going from here on out, and I apologize in advance. I'm not too sure how much I like this chapter, but it is what it is and it's leading up to Dean's fifteenth birthday. I have never been in court, so my experience of a courtroom is limited to my Law and Order: SVU marathons.

Please review! Reviews make long, stressful days better, and I foresee quite a few of those in my future!

**Twelve: Closure**

Dean felt like he was going to puke, like his stomach was never going to stop turning and twisting and flipping over on itself. He had spent the morning throwing up in his nervousness, but now he sat outside Judge Eliot Edwards' chambers, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. Beside him, Ellen was reviewing his file, and he could see the pictures of him post-surgery clipped to the file.

He winced.

"You're okay, Dean," he heard John say, rubbing his foster son's shoulder. "Stop thinking about it. This is going to be quick and easy."

"You know, you try to reassure me, and you just make me more nervous," Dean replied, shaking his head. "But thanks for trying, John."

"Judge Edwards wants to see Dean, please," the bailiff said as he opened the door to the chambers. Dean stood, following the older man in.

Judge Eliot Edwards was graying, older, and he was reading a file through glasses that he took off when he saw Dean approaching. "Hello, son. Take a seat."

Dean did as told, looking for a trashcan as the feeling of nausea rolled over him again. He let the man finish reading the file, watched him close it, waited for the first question.

"How are you today, Dean?"

"Nervous," Dean stuttered out, and the judge chuckled and laughed.

"Don't be nervous. I just want you to tell me whatever you feel when I ask you the questions, okay?" Dean nodded, his hand gripping the pendant on the necklace. "That's a unique necklace."

"It's from a pretty unique girl," Dean responded, shrugging. "I'm missing school for this."

The judge looked up, confused. "What?"

"School's important to me now…how often do you get a kid in here that says that? School's super important, because I didn't have it for a long time before I met the Winchesters. I wasn't thinking about high school, and I wasn't thinking about college—but I am now. John and Mary want me to go to college; they want me to survive and they want me to succeed. They love me—_love me_—and I've never had that. I want to be a Winchester, I want it so bad."

"Do you love them?"

"What?"

"It's not just about want, Dean. Do you _love _them? Because if you don't, then there is-"

"I think I do," Dean admitted. "John's a detective, and I worry when he goes to work, because I don't know what I'd do without him there. He's the guy that saved me. He found me, he got me the paramedics, and he saved my life. But it's more than that. I can talk to him about anything; he doesn't judge me. And Mary….she's a great mom. She helped me with my PT, she encouraged me when I was down…she's been my everything. And I love them both.

"And Sam treats me like I've been his brother his whole life. He thinks I'm someone to look up to, someone to be inspired by. I've never had that before. I've never had a family like this before."

"But do you realize what you are asking? You'll no longer-"

"My father tried to murder me. My mother didn't stop him," Dean cut him off. "The Winchesters have been more of a family than anything I remember my parents being, even before they got all crazy in the head."

"Okay, then, that's all I need to know. You can go outside and tell your social worker that she'll be next."

_That was it?_ Dean wondered, standing. _That's all the judge wanted to talk about? No questions about his parents? No questions about what happened?_ He was still in a daze when he left the room, sitting in between John and Ellen and delivering the judge's message to the latter.

"What's wrong?" John whispered, feeling Dean tense when John's hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Dean?"

"He didn't ask me what I thought he would. He asked me if I loved you guys and if I realized what I was asking for, as if I didn't know."

"Everything's going to be alright, buddy. Just take a deep breath and calm down. I'm sure it's nothing to be worried about," John reassured the teenager, smiling. "I talked to the coach of the baseball team today; he's going to allow you to go to the practice this afternoon even though you weren't at school. I also talked to him about the trial, and how it interfered with tryouts, and he said he would be willing to work around it as needed."

"Thank you," Dean murmured, resting his head against John's shoulder, closing his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well, mostly due to nightmares about the upcoming trial, and John was tired of seeing the bags around his eyes, the weariness in his walk.

"Why don't you take a little nap? Ellen might be in there for awhile, and we both know you aren't sleeping like you should be."

"I'm trying; I've just had a lot on my mind," Dean answered, and John smiled, kissing the boy's forehead. "Thanks, John."

John didn't answer, and Dean didn't give him a chance; he was asleep before John would have been able to reply.

-/-

"I wasn't expecting you out here. I thought you guys had the adoption hearing today!" Chris called as Dean jogged out to the baseball diamond. "I thought you said-"

"The judge signed off on the adoption," Dean answered, a huge grin spreading across his face. "I am officially a Winchester—name change pending, of course. And I made it back in time for extra practice, because I can't have you showing me up."

In a jailhouse across the state, Christopher sat at a table in an interrogation room, looking at the piece of paper his lawyer had given him. "They took him from me," he murmured, balling the piece of paper. "They took my son."

"Your son's testifying tomorrow, Christopher; you need to prepare for that," his court appointed lawyer—sure, he was representing himself, but he had to have the aid of a public defender at his side—reminded him, handing him the notes he had scrawled earlier in the day, during the trial, when his wife—his _wife_—spilled to the court their secrets, their lives.

"He's not my son anymore; the _Winchesters_ have stolen him away from me," Christopher answered. "I shall humiliate him tomorrow."

"That won't be helping your case any, I can assure you. You do realize they could _kill_ you if you're found guilty?"

"Kansas hasn't killed anyone since 1976," Christopher answered with a cocky grin. "They can put me on Death Row, but they won't kill me."

"Christopher-"

"And I will get my son back from those _things_. I will get him back. Mark my words."

"You shouldn't be telling me things like that."

"You can't tell anybody," Christopher snapped, slamming his hand onto the table, drawing the attention of the guards outside the room.

"It's alright," the PD said, glaring at Christopher. "Do it again and I walk out. Now, do you want to prepare for tomorrow or not?"

At the Winchester house, Dean was uneasy, trying to concentrate on the book he was supposed to be reading for school, his mind wandering over the horrific details his mother had revealed earlier in the day. She had talked about their first victim—one Dean didn't remember—a twelve-year-old that they had eventually disemboweled. He had felt Mary's hand tightening over his, felt her lips at his ear as she whispered, "it's okay," to him.

Baseball tryouts had been his saving grace. They had worn him out, tested him, taken his mind off that stupid trial and his upcoming birthday and the adoption. He was grateful for baseball tryouts, even though they showed him he still had a _lot_ of work to do before he was ready to be playing at the varsity level.

"Hey, you up here?" he heard John call, a swift knock on his door before he entered, still dressed for work. "Mary said today was hard."

"Tomorrow's gonna be worse," he replied, shrugging. "I've got to keep my mind off of it until it actually happens, you know? Not that the book's helping or anything."

"How were tryouts today?" John asked, sitting on Dean's bed, looking at the bag of equipment Dean had thrown on the small, old couch in front of the TV.

"I can't compete with the Varsity kids; I'm not there yet," Dean said, closing his book. "But I think I'm going to make the JV team."

"You're a sophomore; you still have lots of time for Varsity."

Dean smiled. "You always know the right things to say, don't you?"

"It's just practice, I promise. I'm going to be there tomorrow, okay?"

"If you get there, you get there," Dean replied, trying not to let on how much he wanted John to be in the courtroom tomorrow, knowing that he was going to be going on the stand and revealing his deepest, darkest moments to the courtroom.

"I'm going to be there," John promised. "Just like I'm going to be at all your games, and all Sam's soccer games and your birthday party…"

Dean tensed, glaring at John. "What birthday party?"

"Oh, the one Mary and I are throwing on Saturday for your birthday. Didn't you know?" John smirked, and Dean shook his head, clearly frightened at the thought. "It's your friends and some of Sam's and Ellen and Bobby and the Travises…nothing big, Dean, I promise. You'll have a good time."

"I just don't want to make everyone else miserable with the crappy mood I'm going to be in after testifying. I will be in a miserable mood."

"Or the party could put you in a good mood," John suggested, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"That's not how I work, John; I know how I'm going to react and it's not going to be good. The last time I had to talk aobut to you I puked afterwards and I acted like a complete asshat to you."

"That's not going to happen, Dean. You'll testify, you'll feel awful, you'll have your _family_ here to put you back together, and then you'll party, because you only turn fifteen once."

"Mmm…and then I just get older. Like you," Dean joked, grinning, and John's jaw dropped, but only for a minute.

"Was that…a joke?" he stammered, his smile matching Dean's. "See, it's already different."

Dean nodded, letting out a breath as his smile fell. "We'll see. I guess tomorrow will be when we tell."

-/-

"And what happened the day that your parents kidnapped Lindsey Harper?" the prosecutor—not Kyle, but another guy—asked, and Dean winced, looking down at his hands.

"I was locked in the closet and I got out. She was screaming. My parents were hurting her. I don't know what they did to her before I got in the room—I only heard the screams—but when my father saw me, he said 'there you are' and he told me to hurt her. He gave me a knife, told me that iron would exorcize the demon. I told him that she wasn't possessed, but he insisted, so I took the knife. I went up to her, and she was _begging _me not to hurt her. I told her to trust me, I cut a little to draw my parents closer, and then I attacked them. I cut my mother's face, and I cut the ropes tying Lindsay to the chair. My father and I fought over the knife for a minute, and then I followed her out of the house. He was chasing us, so I told her how to get off the property, that she would have to hop a fence, and I turned back and hit my father. We fought some more then, and I don't remember much after that until I was found in the basement."

"Do you know why your parents kidnapped Lindsey Harper?"

"They thought she was a demon."

"A demon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did your parents kill people?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

Dean shook his head, biting his lip as hard as he could. "I don't know."

The prosecutor nodded, pulling out a manila folder. Inside were X-Rays, which he put in front of Dean. "Do you know what this is?"

Dean looked at one of the darkened images, recognizing the familiar shoulder. "That's my X-Rays from my shoulder."

"Dr. Hensforth testified earlier about the injuries to your shoulder, did he not? He used Exhibit 12, these photos, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How'd your shoulder end up like this?"

"My father was constantly injuring it; I did the most damage when I was tossed down the basement stairs," Dean answered.

"What about these, Dean?" The prosecutor laid out pictures of his scarred back, and Dean winced as he picked up one of the photos. "Is it true that these are pictures of your back?"

"Yes."

"Is it true your father did this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He'd carve them into my skin with a knife after beating me," Dean whispered.

"That's all I have for now, your honor."

The judge nodded, looking at Christopher, who stood. "And why did your father do all those _horrid_ things?" he asked his son, and Dean let out a breath before answering.

"Because you're crazy," Dean finally said. "Because you're demented. Because you thought it would be fun to slice into a kid's back. I don't know. That's a question you should be asking yourself."

Christopher gave him a look, a crazed look that he remembered from when he was staring at his dying victims, looking at them as if they were the scum of the earth. It was the look he gave his victims before he killed them, before he slit his throat or snapped their neck. "Or maybe it was because you were being punished?"

"Being grounded is punishment. Having your stuff taken away is punishment. Having someone slice up your back and obliterate your shoulder is a little over the top," Dean snapped as the prosecutor shouted his objection and the PD "assisting" Christopher shook his head, hands rubbing his temples.

"Order!" the judge shouted, slamming the gavel, Dean wincing at the sound. The bailiff had come forward but hadn't interceded, and Christopher backed off, back to the defendant's table, looking at his notes. "Both sides, step forward now."

Dean watched the prosecutor meet his father in front of the judge's podium, heard the older man chastise them both. His eyes trailed over the faces in the courtroom until he saw Mary and John, both of whom were watching him. "I'm okay," he mouthed, and Mary nodded, giving him a big smile. A _you're-doing-great-and-it's-almost-over_ smile.

Christopher was arguing with his assistant, and he finally, begrudgingly, sat down, looking down at the paper. "We have no further questions for this witness, your honor," the other man said, and the judge nodded, dismissing Dean.

His steps were slow as he got off the stand, down the aisle, past the prosecutor, past Mary and John, out the door. He slid down the wall outside the courtroom door, his heart racing as he pressed his elbows into his knees. He heard the door open, and he looked up at Mary, giving her a smile. "I'm fine, I promise." She nodded, sitting beside him. "John's not coming?"

"In a few minutes. You did a good job, despite that…_bastard_ you have as a real father. I mean, I knew he was….but he's a wretched man."

"That he is," Dean agreed with her, smiling. "But I'm done with him now. I'm done with that part of my life. I….I can concentrate on being a Winchester, and not have to worry about this muddled up mess that I'm leaving behind."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Fifteen

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: New chapter (since, you know, the CW pulled off the new episode _twenty-four hours_ before it was set to air).

Please review! Reviews make long, stressful days better, and I foresee quite a few of those in my future!

**Thirteen: Fifteen**

In his fifteen years of living, Dean had never had a birthday party. Before his parents were crazy, they worked nine-to-five, paycheck-to-paycheck. They were a happy, small family, sure, but there hadn't been enough money for birthday parties. There was always a small, homemade cake that his mom baked, with homemade frosting, and a present or two (usually a baseball mitt or some Hot Wheels), but there were no elaborate plans, no friends, no parties.

The morning of his first birthday party started badly.

He woke to a _ding_ing against his window, over and over and over again until he rolled out of bed, glanced at the clock—four in the morning, _really_?—and made his way to the front window, looking down in the driveway at Jo. He opened the window, the blast of cold air chilling him. "Jo? You do know it's four in the morning, right?"

"I need to talk to you."

She had been crying, he could tell. "Jo-"

"Please?" She sounded like she was going to start again, and he nodded.

"I'll be down in a minute. You have to be really quiet." He closed the window, making his way down the steps, glancing at John and Mary's closed door, before heading past the living room to the front door. He winced when it squeaked, but held it open just long enough for a sobbing Jo to come in before closing it and locking it again. "Come on," he whispered in her ear, taking her shaking hand—she was only wearing a thin jacket—and leading her up the stairs, guiding her past the squeaky spots, to his room.

"Thank you," she murmured, her breath hitching as her tears began rolling down her cheeks, out of swollen eyes. "I'm sorry. I know it's four and I know you were sleeping and had big plans for today-"

He hugged her tight, feeling her sobs jerk her body and she pressed against him. "You gonna tell me what's going on, Jo?" he whispered into her hair, running his hand down the long blond waves. "Because you don't normally show up to the house bawling your eyes out."

"My dad told me he wants me to stop visiting him."

"What?" Dean's eyebrow furrowed, and he pushed her away a little. "Why, Jo?"

"Because apparently I'm not giving his whore the respect she deserves. She's going to be my stepmother, he says, and that their relationship is important and that I need to acknowledge that."

"Your father's an idiot, Jo. We both know that. Stop crying over him, honey. I know it hurts, but you have your mom, and you have me; you don't need that jackass." He paused, wondering when he became the guy whole doled out advice about families—considering he had come from jack crap.

"It doesn't help that my mom's spending the weekend with her boyfriend in Topeka…"

"What are they doing in Topeka?"

"He has some conference; she's visiting one of the kids she helped."

Dean nodded, rubbing her back as her sobs turned to sniffles. "I'm sorry; it's just he irritates the hell out of me, and this was a low blow. I thought I was supposed to come first in his life, but obviously not."

"I know, Jo. Sometimes, our parents aren't what we want them to be," Dean whispered. She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

"I never got to ask how tryouts went," she said, totally switching the subject of their conversation. Dean knew that that meant that she was done crying and freaking out about it. Now she was going to get into the embarrassed stage, and then finally—after much reassuring from Dean that it's okay that he saw her cry—into anger at herself getting upset over what her father said. They had been here before, and he was sure they would be there again.

So he smiled. "I made the JV team, which is pretty good considering I've never played in a league before. Chris thinks that they'll pull me for some of the varsity games, too, because he says that I'm that good," Dean responded, and she smiled, hugging him tight.

"Congratulations, Dean! I'm super excited for you."

"So you'll come to my games?"

"Some of them, at least, I promise."

"Good. Listen, you stay here, get some sleep; I'm gonna go bunk with Sam." He stood, and she grabbed his hand, making him still. "Jo-"

"I just wanted to say thank you, Dean. Thank you for always being here."

"Of course, Jo. Anytime."

"And happy birthday, Dean. I forgot to tell you that while I was blubbering."

He smiled.

-/-

Mary completely _freaked_ out when she opened the door to Dean's room and saw Jo curled up in his blankets. She clamped a hand around her mouth before she said anything, then turned and looked for her oldest son, breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw the outline of a body on the lower of the bunks in Sam's room. "Dean, wake up. We need to talk."

Dean blinked a couple of times, staring at Mary. "What time is it?" he asked, sitting up.

"You want to tell me why Jo Harvell is in your bed? And don't lie to me, honey; I don't like it."

"Oh."

"Oh is right. Why don't you come downstairs and we'll let Sam sleep for awhile? You and I can talk-"

"Don't you me you and me and John?" Dean replied, climbing out of bed. "I'm really sorry about that…she just-"

"Downstairs, Dean. I'll get breakfast started; you take a shower, get dressed," Mary answered, kissing his forehead. "Happy birthday, baby."

Downstairs, John and Mary were waiting with both breakfast and coffee when he climbed down the steps, running a hand through still-wet hair. "It's not as bad as you're thinking," he started, grabbing the glass of milk and downing half of it.

"And how bad do we think it is?" John asked in amusement, picking at his toast as Dean flushed, glancing up the stairs.

"She was throwing rocks at my window at four this morning. She was sobbing, like bad sobbing, and she said she just needed to talk so I came downstairs and I unlocked the door. Her dad's being an ass again and her mom's in Topeka and I'm her best friend. She comes to me with all this stuff-and I couldn't turn her away, because I understand what it's like to have horrible parents."

He was talking fast, he knew, trying to gloss over the story—even with Mary frowning at his use of the word _ass_ and John's brow furrowing—so that they could see that he really had to let her in, had to calm her down.

"So how did she end up in your bed?" Mary finally asked, and he sucked in a breath, glancing at his food—pancakes and eggs. "Dean, we're not mad. We're just trying to get all the facts."

"I told her to take my bed, get some sleep, and I went and bunked with Sam. I didn't wake him up, I promise—I just kinda slipped in and climbed into the bottom bunk."

"And you didn't think about waking us up?" John questioned, and Dean shook his head.

"Not really, no."

"Next time, let us know, okay? Then I won't be thinking about…bad thoughts when I see a girl in my son's bed on his fifteenth birthday," Mary teased gently, and Dean nodded, grinning.

His _fifteenth _birthday—he had survived to that. He could see a sixteenth and a seventeenth and an eighteenth birthday in his future, just as he could see graduating high school and going to college. His future used to be so muddied—he wasn't sure if he was going to be alive in the next _day_, let alone the next year—and now he could just see it all.

Maybe this birthday wouldn't be so bad, after all.

-/-

The party was in full swing, and in a moment of nostalgia, Dean found himself upstairs, lying on his bed, looking at ceiling, Jo by his side. "I can't believe you're nervous. It's your own party," she muttered, rolling her shoulders.

"I haven't had a birthday party ever, Jo," he tried to explain, turning to look at her.

"Yeah, but Dean, these are your friends. We're the people who don't care where you came from, whether or not you have a serial killer for a father, whether you're adopted or not. We want you to have a good time on your birthday. We want you to enjoy your own party…not sulk up here with me."

He laughed, sitting up. "I'm not sulking, I promise. No calls of being a freak, no nothing. I'm fine."

"Then why are we up here, Dean?"

"I don't know to be honest. Habit, maybe? But you're right, let's go join the party." She grinned, letting him pull her up, following him down the steps. "What are you getting? From Mary and John?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's hiding in that big pile of _other_ presents I have to open," Dean said, glancing to the table, stacked with gifts in various colors, papers, and bags. "What'd you get me?"

"Guess you'll have to wait and see, huh? Mom brought in when she came. She thanked Mary and John for letting me stay-"

"Oh, I heard, believe me. Me and Mary and John had a whole discussion on _that_ subject."

"They don't know you shot me down at Christmas?" Jo asked, smiling as Chris joined them, rolling her eyes when Chris made some rude joke. "You are so crude."

Chris waggled his eyebrows at her, taking another sip of his coke. "You just don't know what you're missing, Jo. You know you want to get with this."

Jo shook her head, her eyebrow rising. "Not even if you were the last man alive. And there was lots of alcohol."

"I like your fire, Jo," Chris said loudly, and he clapped Dean on the back as he yelled "Happy birthday" to him. "Ready for practice next week?"

"And here you two go, talking about sports. I'm gonna go find my mom." She disappeared into the kitchen, and Dean watched her go before turning back to Chris.

"You don't want to talk about practice, do you?" he ventured, and Chris grinned haplessly, shrugging.

"I just wanted to thank you, for…"

"That was a really long time ago, and you know I don't need your thanks. You've been a good friend, and nobody should have to deal with crappy parents, though it seems like all of us have crappy parents."

Chris's grin turned to a genuine smile. "Well, my stepfather's here, and he wants to thank you, so be on the lookout for some tall blond dude that looks like he really wants to hug you in the not-so-stalkerish way. He's a good guy, just a little…emphatic."

"I'll watch out for him, I promise."

Chris' stepfather tracked them down soon enough, as Dean and Chris were having a discussion with John and some of the guys from the baseball team about their chances at winning state. The man shook John's hand first, clearly recognizing him from the when he had picked up Chris, and then shook Dean's, wishing him a happy birthday. "And for Chris. Thank you for helping him."

Dean nodded, slightly uncomfortable, rescued again by John. "You ready for cake? Maybe some of those presents?"

Dean smiled, following John to the kitchen, a little overwhelmed by the huge cake. "Oh, wow. John, Mary-"

"Happy birthday to you," Mary began singing, and the rest of the crowd joined in, Dean reddening as it continued. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DEAN, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!"

"Now…what do I do?" he murmured to Mary.

"You have to make a wish and blow out the candles."

"Everything I need I have."

"Well, think of something you want. Blow out the candles."

Dean nodded, looking at the cake. The trouble was, there was nothing he wanted that Mary and John hadn't given him. There was nothing he couldn't ask them for and they wouldn't at least _try_ to give it to him. So instead of thinking of something he wanted, he thought of everything he was thankful for, everything he had now.

And he blew out the candles.

-/-

Dean looked at the last present, the one from Mary and John. It had been buried at the table, a small little box that reminded him of his early Christmas present. He glanced at them as he unwrapped it carefully, setting the paper on top of the other paper from the other presents. He opened the box, staring at the car keys. "Um…"

"I figured with you getting your license, you need a car. And since you helped me put the Impala back together, you deserved it," John explained, and Dean's face broke out in a huge smile.

"The Impala? Really?" he asked in an excited tone, hugging John tight. "It's mine?"

"As long as you get your restricted license on Monday."

Dean grinned, hugging Mary before hugging John again."Thank you! Thank you guys!" He turned to his friends, leading them out to the garage, to show them the car he had spent his summer helping with, his 'baby', as he affectionately called it.

Sam didn't follow them, which was unusual. He was the tag-along in Dean's group of friends, so much younger than the rest of the kids, but Dean never made him feel left out. He tried to include him in _everything_, probably because he enjoyed being the big brother, the role model.

"You okay, Sammy?" John asked, glancing at Mary as she cleaned up the plates. He was going to help her, but…Sam had stayed behind. He sat by the ten-year-old, looking at the fork hovering over the mostly-eaten cake.

"That was my car."

"What?"

"You said I could have the Impala. You said…you gave the car to Dean," Sam murmured, shaking his head. "Never mind. I'm going to go upstairs."

"Sam-"

He didn't stop, stomping on the steps, slamming the door to his room. John sighed, taking the left plate and giving it to Mary, grabbing several other discarded plates and handing them over. "I didn't even get to tell him."

"John, it's hard on Sam. He's never had to share before, and now he does. He'llg et over it; he just needs some time," Mary answered. "Dean?"

John looked up; Dean stood in the doorway, obviously confused. "Have you guys seen Sam? I would have thought he was coming, but he never did."

"He's upstairs, Dean, but-" Dean took off up the steps, and John rolled his eyes. "He's in for a rude awakening. "

Dean knocked on Sam's door, opening it when the kid yelled "yeah". "I thought you would've wanted to come see the car."

Sam looked up from the book he was reading, frowning. "Don't you have a new car to fawn over?" he snapped, and Dean took a step back.

"Sam?"

"Did you know that Dad promised me the car? When I was eight. Over and over and over-'when you're older, Sam, I'm going to give this to you.' But obviously, he was lying."

"I didn't know, Sam," he whispered. "I wouldn't have-"

"Can you leave me alone? I'm trying to read."

"Sam, I won't take the car. Especially if it's yours'," Dean tried, and Sam glared at him, throwing the book at him. Dean moved out of the way, picking the book up and setting it on the bookshelf. "Sam-"

"No, it's fine. You've taken everything else-the room, my parents, everything…you should have this, too."

"Enough, Sam," John snapped at his son, causing both boys to jump in surprise. "If you had just stayed in the room long enough, you would have heard that I'm giving Dean the Impala because he helped me with the engine…he helped me put that car together. And then you would have heard that I bought a frame for a 1970 Chevelle. I figured that you can help put your own car together, just like Dean helped with the Impala."

"You…you bought a new car?"

"I bought a frame; we're building a car. Together. And if you get over your attitude, maybe you can ask Dean if he wants to help us, because he's really good at it, and I'm sure he would want to help."

"You bought a car for me?"

"The Impala is Dean's car, Sam. It's like it was made for him. There's no reason you can't have a car like that, too."

Sam reddened, looking wide-eyed at Dean. "I'm sorry. I was jealous. I promise I didn't mean what I said. I'm not used to-"

Dean shook his head. "It's alright. And of course I'll help. And then, when you get your license, you can chauffeur me around in your car." He sat by Sam on the bed, ruffling the boy's hair. "You want to come now?"

"Yeah. Happy birthday, Dean. I really mean it."

"Thanks, Sam. Now, c'mon, they're all waiting for us."

As Sam followed him down the steps, Dean felt the fear and anxiety from the morning—this day, his birthday, had started out awful, had always been awful.

His day might have started out awful, but it wasn't going to end like that.

Fifteen was going to be a good year.

**A/N: Yay for schmoopy goodness! Next up: tragedy (and not in the serial killer father kind of way) for the Winchester family, and time moves forward!**

**Please Review!  
**


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Speak

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: Please review! And that's about all I have to say.

**Fourteen: Speak**

"Dean," Jo whispered, her voice the only sound in the room save the whistling of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. "Mary's worried."

The boy beside the hospital bed stared at the unmoving hand of the patient, tears rolling down his face, eyes swollen from crying. He was still wearing a dirt-streaked baseball uniform, still clutching his catcher's mitt, his other equipment forgotten in the Impala. He looked ragged, pale, like all his life was sucked out of him staring at John Winchester's lifeless body.

"Dean-" she tried again, cautiously reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You have to get some rest. You've been here for hours-"

"It's my fault he's here. I should stay," he replied, his voice wooden, rife with guilt. "You need to go home, Jo."

She scoffed, pulling another chair up to the bed. "No. If you're not going, I'm not going."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard."

"So is staying here because you think you're guilty. You aren't guilty of _anything_, Dean. You didn't shoot him! You didn't cause him to get shot! Some guy shot him! Stop blaming yourself!"

"Shut up," he snapped, glaring at her. "Get out and shut up, Jo. I don't need this right now. I don't need you here, being my little cheerleader."

"Is that all you think I am, Dean?" Jo murmured, shaking her head. "I've been by your side for…for everything. For all the bad times, for all the good times, for everything. I'm not just your little cheerleader. I'm the person who's seen everything, who's been by your side for _everything_. I'm your best friend, and you're kinda treating me like shit right now, and so you can come find me when you decide to pull your head out of your ass."

She stood up, the sound of the chair scraping across the floor making him flinch more than the slam of the door as she left. She was right, of course, he was being an ass, but she didn't understand.

He had caused this.

_John still wasn't there, and Dean couldn't help the small surge of disappointment from his heart as he tossed the ball back to the pitcher, signaling for the next ball. He changed his stance a little, holding up his glove as the pitcher began his wind-up. _

_ Dean knew that John might not come. He had been working on a case for the better part of a week, and Dean had barely seen him to tell him the news that he was going to be playing a Varsity game. John had smiled—a tired smile that Dean had been seeing more often lately—and told Dean he'd _try_ to make it, but there were no promises._

_ He caught the ball as the batter swung and missed, throwing it back and setting up for the next pitch, seeing Mary talking to Chris' mom in the stands, her arm around Sam's shoulder. Mary had come to all his games, home and away, and nothing was changing not that he was playing for the varsity team. _

_ Another catch, another strike, and Dean barely noticed a police officer walking into the stands, clearly looking for someone. He signaled for the new pitch, adjusting as the pitcher nodded for the curveball, catching the ball flawlessly as the umpire called out another strike and the batter was sent back to the dugout._

_ They were waiting for the next batter when he saw the man head up the stands to Mary, and he stood, taking off his mask. His coach was yelling at him, but his eyes were locked on Mary as a hand went to her mouth and tears began trailing down her face. Chris' mom's hand went to Mary's shoulder, squeezing tight, and his stepfather caught her as she wobbled and her knees gave out. _

_ The coach called for a time-out, running from the dugout to the bottom of the stands, all the while Dean stood frozen in place, his mask hanging limply from his hand. When his coach turned and looked at him, he dropped the mask._

_ Something was wrong._

"I need you to wake up, John," he whispered, his voice pleading. "I can't see you like this. I can't—after everything that's happened, you can't be like this."

His eyes focused on the white bandage peaking out underneath the hospital gown. It was a gunshot, through-and-through, and it had managed to nick his heart, collapse one lung, and nearly get the other one as it exited out the front of John's body. The doctor said it had entered at an angle, that John had been turning when he was shot, and that the damage wasn't nearly as severe as it could be.

"John, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

The door to the room opened, and Dean flinched when Mary sat beside him. "I saw a very angry Jo storming out not five minutes ago," she started casually, red-rimmed swollen eyes looking at her husband. She reached out to squeeze his hand, murmuring an "I love you" before turning her attention back to her son. "What happened?"

"I didn't want her here."

"That's not an answer, Dean. She's a good friend to you; you shouldn't through something like that away," Mary said. "You know this isn't your fault, right? Bobby told us that the guy shot him because he thought John and Bobby were after him even though they were only asking for directions. John wasn't hurrying them along to get to the game or whatever else you might think; this was someone shooting him out of fear."

"He would have been more careful if he hadn't been hurrying," Dean finally answered. "He would have worn his vest; he wouldn't have been so careless."

"Honey, John wasn't careless. He didn't do anything fast, or hurried, no matter how much he wanted to be at your game. It wasn't anyone's fault but the shooters; you've got to realize that. He's a cop, and sometimes bad things happen to him. He's got his family here, everyone that matters; he's going to be fine. He's going to want to know all about your game, and he's going to want to apologize for missing it…he's going to get better."

"How do you know?" Dean whispered, glancing to Mary, who smiled through her tears.

"Because I've seen him…absolutely destroyed. When Adam died, with the drinking and the recklessness…he's come back from that to the man I love. He's my brilliant, wonderful husband all because he pulled himself off the ground. If he did it once, he can do it _again_. I believe that with all my heart."

"He told me about Adam. I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago, Dean. And I haven't gotten over it, obviously—I lost a child—but I don't cry myself to sleep anymore, and his baby blanket is now safely tucked away in the closet with other mementos that I don't ever want to forget," she answered. "Adam would have been bright and bubbly, I think, more open than Sam and you, but he would have been his father's spitting image."

Dean didn't say anything; he was having an epiphany. Her words about John—about the potential dangers of his job—were finally sinking in.

He was finally getting that this _wasn't his fault_.

"John, I got someone out a second because they were trying to steal it," he started, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. "And I got two people out at home. I hit a double, and I got an RBI…"

"You should have seen him, honey," Mary cut in, squeezing John's hand. "He was brilliant. You've seen him at his JV games, and…he was playing beautifully. He's going to make a damn good baseball player if he decides to go pro."

He thought he might have seen John's hand flicker.

-/-

He couldn't help but think how clichéd it was, to be throwing rocks at her window at nine o'clock on a Saturday morning. He had a boombox ready to go, too, if perhaps that didn't work, but he was really hoping he wasn't going to have to break out bad 80's music.

He launched another pebble, wishing he had brought another jacket. He hadn't anticipated being outside for so long. He thought this would be a short and sweet reunion.

Obviously, he thought wrong.

"Come on, Jo! I know you know I'm out here!" he yelled, tossing another rock, glaring at the crazy neighbor woman who looked at him from her porch, stroking her fat cat's back. "I'm trying to apologize to my best friend."

"And you are _not_ doing a great job of it," Jo said, and Dean jumped, looking at her as she opened and closed the front door, pulling her robe tighter. "You are _so _lucky Mom's not here right now. She's not too happy with you."

"You're not too happy with me," Dean answered. "I have a boombox."

"I didn't like _Say Anything_, Dean," she replied, frowning. "What do you want?"

"To apologize. I was an ass."

"Yeah, you were. A really big, big ass. Such a big ass that I _still_ haven't gotten over it," she snapped, glaring.

"Jo, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry-"

"How's John?" she asked, ignoring his words.

"The same. Mary made me come home with her parents," he answered. "Apparently, I'm supposed to do this thing called sleep."

"Eating, too. You're supposed to eat," Jo added, and Dean nodded. "You've been at the hospital this whole time?"

"Yeah. Mary's parents were in Ohio or something and they just got there. The Impala's still at school, so I couldn't take that back, and Ben's mom came and got Sam about an hour after you left; she's going to take him for the weekend, try to keep him calm."

"But not you?"

"I didn't want to leave. Mary promised I could come back after I got some sleep, but I needed to see you first."

"And you decided that waking me up with some 80's teen movie cliché was the best way to beg my forgiveness?" Jo deadpanned, shaking her head. "Listen, I forgive you and all that, but I'm still angry, and I still need some time. And next time? Try something a little later in the day. I didn't go to bed until one, and being woken up by _rocks_ at nine? Annoys the hell out of me."

She stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind her, and Dean just stood there, wondering if he was really forgiven or if she was just saying it to get rid of him.

The woman stood up on her porch, still clutching her cat. She glared at him, and he glared back, until she sniffed at him. "What is your problem?" He yelled at her, flailing his hand above his head in some gesture he was sure looked pretty rude. "I screwed up and I'm trying to apologize!"

"Well, it looks to me like you're doing a mighty _fine_ job on that front," she sneered back, and he rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should just kiss her, you dolt."

"I don't need your advice!" He yelled back, completely exasperated. "I'm not her boyfriend, anyway."

The front door opened again, and Jo was glaring at the neighbor-lady too, agitated. "Mrs. Crowell, can you just stay out of this? Please!"

"It's a little weird that you people shout at each other across the street," Dean muttered, and Jo glared at him. "What?"

"You should be groveling, not making smart-ass comments," she snapped. "But I forgive you. You don't need to stand out here like an idiot any longer. Grab your boombox and get out of here—you probably need to get back to the hospital soon."

"Okay. I'll see you later, then? You'll come back to the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'll be there later." She kissed his cheek—a soft, barely-felt press of her lips against his skin—and headed back inside, effectively shooing him away.

-/-

He was freshly showered when he came back. He looked like he had slept a little. Those were the first two things Jo noticed as Dean walked towards John's room, standing to meet him. "You're here," he said, hugging her. "Thank you."

"I'm still mad at you," she replied, pushing her hair behind her ear. "I don't like being called a little cheerleader. I'm not Chris' girlfriend."

Dean smirked, pushing back another tendril of her blond hair. "You know, she probably wouldn't be happy hearing that from you. She already hates you as it is," he answered, glancing into the darkened room. "Is Mary in there?"

"Yeah."

Dean could hear Mary sobbing as he approached the doorway, and he hurried in, concern etched on his face. "Mary?"

"I didn't expect you back so soon," she said, wiping at her tears. "I'm sorry about this, Dean. I'm just really-"

He squeezed her shoulders, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Everything's going to be all right."

"I know. I know. I just-"

"You too busy holding the rest of us up," Dean answered for her, sitting in the chair beside her. "We didn't notice how this was affecting you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your job," she replied, wiping more tears away.

"It is, actually. With John like…this, I'm the man of the house, so it is my job. I'll be the strong one for awhile, if you just want to…let it all out."

"Was that Jo I saw outside?"

"Yeah. We sorta made up."

"Good. We need some happy news during the middle of this. Did you sleep?"

"For a couple of hours. Your parents took me out for lunch. What about you? Did you eat?"

"I had something from the cafeteria."

"You'll go home tonight?" he questioned. "I'll stay at the hospital tonight if you'll go home for a few hours."

"You're not staying here by yourself, Dean."

"So, have your parents come up. You've got to get some rest if I've got to get some rest," Dean tried to reason, and Mary sighed, kissing his temple. "Does that mean you'll go home?"

"I'll think about it."

"Does 'I'll think about it' mean yes or no, exactly? Because it can usually go either way with you."

"I'll go home Dean, as long as my dad will come up here."

Dean squeezed John's hand. "See? I'm looking out for her," he whispered, and Mary shook her head, smiling. "Don't worry, John, we're all in good hands. We're just waiting for you to come back to us, so you need to get on that, okay?"

"You're going to bully him back into consciousness?" Mary asked and Dean shrugged.

"Does it matter as long as he wakes up?"

"He's going to wake up, Dean."

"I know. I just want him to wake up now."

"Me too, Dean, me too. And he will. We just have to have a little faith."

-/-

Two days turned into three, and Sunday slowly drifted into Monday. Monday meant school, and practice. Monday meant that Dean and Sam and Mary had to go back to 'normal' without a crucial part of normal there. Mary made breakfast—even though Deanne had assured her that she could have handled it—and Dean drove Sam to school before heading to the high school. He met Jo and Tyler in the commons to look over the homework he hadn't done (Jo let him copy), and Chris joined them about ten minutes before the first bell rang. He asked Dean how his father was, told him about the game after Dean left (the team won), and assured him the coach wouldn't be mad.

First period floated by, second period was barely noticed. The morning slipped into the afternoon, and soon the final bell was ringing. Dean didn't even remember what they had gone over in _any_ of his classes, and he was pretty sure he screwed up practice when he couldn't even do their sprints the right way.

When the coach called him over while they were doing their last runs of the night (ten sprints around the bases—oh. so. much. fun.), Dean was sure that he had been really bad. When the coach asked him if he was okay, he knew things went badly.

"I—I have to get back to the hospital," he managed to mumble, looking past his coach. "Mary needs to go home and be with Sam for awhile, and I have to be at the hospital for John."

"Dean, why don't you take this week off, then? I know you've got other things on your mind through no fault of your own, so maybe you should take a break-"

Dean looked up, shaking his head. "I can't. I need…I need something to keep my mind off…off John."

"Alright, then, but I need you to put forth some effort on Wednesday, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hit the shower, son. You let me know if you have any problems or you need to take this week, okay? Because it's fine if you do. No one will blame you."

"Thanks, Coach, but…"

"Go on, Dean. Get out of here." Dean smiled gratefully, turning to follow his teammates into the locker room.

Monday turned to Tuesday as he was sitting in John's hospital room working on history homework.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Ouch

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog. Also, the passage from _Catcher in the Rye_ is the very first paragraph from the first page and belongs to J.D. Salinger himself.

**Author's Notes**: Yeah….so this chapter has a really fast pace. Like a really, really, really fast pace. Lots happens.

**Fifteen: Ouch**

_The rain had just started in the bottom of the ninth, and Lawrence was up by two. Dean stood at home plate, trying to keep his jitters down, wiping his forearm across the side of his uniform, smearing his blood across the dirty cloth. His forearm was skinned from when he had to slide into third with his arm and hand stretched, barely making it before the third baseman shoved his glove into Dean's ribs. _

_ The opposing team had been playing rough. They were the former state champs, and Lawrence had been having an on-night against them. Dean had already hit a homerun and a double that had scored two runs, and they were out to get him. _

_ The ball came close to hitting him, and he flinched as the umpire called it a strike. The pitcher grinned, the catcher made some sarcastic remark. Dean shrugged off the looks and the comments, getting a better grip on the bat and focusing. "Swing, batter, batter, swing," the catcher taunted, and he just smirked._

_ And hit his second homerun of the night._

"You would have been proud, John," Dean told the prone body, flopping into a seat beside the hospital bed, rubbing absently at the bandage that ran the length of his forearm. "I kicked their ass. They made fun of me, and I didn't sweat it. Totally kicked their ass. "I hit two home runs—against the best team in the state—and I got four RBIs. I tagged someone out who was trying to steal second. The coach said I would be splitting time with Schueller if I kept playing like that." Schueller was the senior catcher, who already had a full ride to KU to play baseball. "Not that he didn't have a good game. I just had a better one.

"I slid into third, and my arm's torn up pretty badly. But it's my good arm, so I guess that's okay. Schueller got smacked in the side with a ball, and one of their runners shoved into Chris when he hit second. I-" Dean paused, glancing at Mary, still asleep, curled up in her chair. She should be at home, sleeping, but Dean had a game and she didn't want to leave John alone, so Sam was staying with Ben and Mary was up at the hospital."You gotta wake up soon, John. Just…as soon as possible, 'kay?"

His answer was the reassuring beep of the heart monitor, and he sighed, sitting back in his chair, looking at his forgotten biology book. He had a test on Friday and he was supposed to go to Jo's tomorrow to study, but his mind didn't care about learning _any_ material for the test.

"Ouch."

His head snapped up, staring at John's face; he swore he had heard the word coming from _John_, in the softest tone possible. But the man's face was blank.

And then it scrunched in pain, one eyelid peeling open, unsure, and then the other. Dean jumped up from his seat, grabbing one of John's hands and squeezing. "Mary!" he called, looking back at her as she jerked awake. "He opened his eyes."

She smiled—albeit a tired smile—and stood, looking down at her husband. "Finally," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "We've been waiting for awhile, my love."

"Hurts," John mumbled, his voice hoarse, squeezing Dean's hand when he looked at him. "Good…good job. On the game."

"You heard me?" Dean asked, ignoring the door as it opened, a doctor and a nurse filing in.

"Couple of homeruns, couple of RBIs," John replied, wincing when the doctor removed the bandage. "God, Doc, that…that hurts like hell."

"Mr. Winchester, you probably shouldn't be talking so much this early on," the doctor said with an easy smile. "When did he wake up?"

"Just a minute ago," Mary answered. "I'll need to get a hold of Ben's mom, see if she will bring Sam. And Bobby. And Ellen-"

"There will be time for that later," John told her, and she grinned. "Why don't you go talk with the doctor, see how I'm doing?"

"I'd be happy to discuss it-" the doctor began, and John shook his head, looking at Dean before looking back at the doctor. "Of course, sir. Mrs. Winchester, if you want to step outside-"

"I know what you are doing," Dean whispered when the door closed behind them, feeling John squeeze his hand again."

"I remember things, from when I was out," John replied, nodding to the water, letting Dean get a cup for him, taking a sip, before continuing. "And I remember you talking a lot. I also remember you blaming yourself."

"I'm over that now," Dean said. "I haven't blamed myself in a long time, John."

"Good, that's what I want to hear."

"We've missed you, John. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, kiddo."

Dean squeezed his hand, and John smiled, handing the cup of water back to Dean. He's eyebrows furrowed when he saw huge band-aids on his forearm. "What happened, buddy?"

"Nothing. Scraped my arm up coming into third, it's just scrapes and bruises and stuff but it was bleeding so Coach made the trainer tape it up at the end of the game."

John nodded, wincing, and Dean pulled away, sitting back in his chair. "I can't wait for you to come home."

"I can't wait to come home, either, Dean. It'll probably be a long road until I'm up on my feet again, until I'm normal again, but I promise you-"

"I don't need promises, John. I'm just glad you woke up, that you're talking and that might actually recover."

"Me too, kiddo, me too." John shifted, noticing the open book bag beside Dean's chair. "Were you working on school stuff?"

"I was going to, but I just got here. I was going to read _Catcher in the Rye _to you."

"Well, I suggest you get to it, my son. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean nodded, pulling the well-worn book out of his bag, turning to the first page. "If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father. They're _nice_ and all—I'm not saying that—but they're also touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I'll just tell you about this madman sutff that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. I mean that's all I told D.B. about, and he's my _brother _and all. He's in Hollywood. That isn't too far from this crumby place, and he comes over and visits me practically every weekend. He's going to drive me home when I go home next month maybe. He just got a Jaguar. One of those little English jobs that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He's got a lot of dough, now. He didn't _use _to. He used to be just a regular writer, when he was home. He wrote this terrific book of short stories, _The Secret Goldfish_, in case you've never heard of him. The best one in it was "the Secret Goldfish." It was about this little kid that wouldn't let anybody look at his goldfish because he'd bought it with his own money. It killed me. Now he's out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even mention them to me.

"Where I want to start telling is the day I left Pencey Prep…"

-/-

Dean grimaced as he pulled the band-aids off his forearm, the pull of the sticky substance against the angry red flesh surrounding the cuts. "Shit," he muttered, clenching his teeth as he reached for the bottle of peroxide he had found in the cabinet. He poured it over his cuts, wincing as they bubbled and festered, seriously regretting not having a doctor look at it. If Mary knew how bad these cuts were, she would be upset. Very, very, very upset.

He waited for the cool air to soothe the burning skin, sitting on the toilet while he waited. Once his skin was dry, he grabbed the antibiotic cream, smearing the cream across his forearm. "You are officially an idiot," Jo murmured from her spot on the toilet, looking over the package of bandages he had bought. "Who waits _three_ days to clean out a wound?"

"I've been busy," Dean muttered, glaring at her. "If you aren't going to be helpful, can you at least not make stupid comments?"

"You need to tell Mary, Dean. You need to see a doctor."

"Mary's got enough to deal with with John, and I don't need a doctor."

"And why are you qualified to self-diagnose?"

"Because with my parents, that's all I ever got to do, was self-diagnose."

"But John and Mary are your parents now, Dean, and I don't think they look too kindly on self-diagnosis," Jo answered, raising an eyebrow. "Or did you forget the fancy orthopedist you go see on a regular basis? I'm sure _he_ wouldn't look too kindly on this arm, either."

"I'll tell Mary if it doesn't clear up by the weekend, how's that?" Dean bargained, and Jo nodded once, opening the box of bandages and pulling one out, pressing it against the tan skin of his arm, making sure it was snug. "John's coming home today."

"I know. My mom told me."

"I don't want anything to ruin that, you know? He's coming home after lying in a hospital bed for two weeks…I don't want my arm to ruin things. But if it doesn't get better—I'll tell them."

Jo didn't answer before they both heard the front door open, and Dean smiled widely as he opened the bathroom door and hurried down the steps.

She heard a soft gasp as she followed him, but stopped before she could be seen, the way his body tensed making her nervous. "Elijah," she heard him breathe out, and she gasp, covering her mouth with her hand, heading back up the stairs to the hall.

"All alone now, are you?" the raspy voice from her nightmares answered. She pressed into the wall beside the stairwell, out of sight, but still close enough to hear.

"You better get out of here, Elijah. John and Mary will be home soon."

He didn't sound scared, but she knew he was. She knew he was fighting hard to keep his voice from shaking, to keep from running.

"I'll just shoot John Winchester and make sure he actually dies instead of just laying in a hospital bed for two weeks."

"What do you want, Elijah?"

"You're going to come with me. I'm settling this for your father once and for all."

"You really think I'm going to willingly walk out of here with you pointing that gun at me?"

Jo suddenly remembered it, the handgun Dean showed her one afternoon during the trial, the gun John put up in the nook hidden behind the picture because Dean felt uncomfortable. She looked at the picture, wondering if she could get to it without alerting Elijah to her presence. She slid out of her shoes, making her way slowly to the picture.

The gun was cold and heavy in her hands. She knew how to use a gun, but she hated them; she had seen the damage they could cause and she never wanted to be the one to cause that pain.

She slipped the safety off with ease, determination taking hold as she walked down the steps, pausing as she saw that Elijah had his back turned to her, that Dean managed to get Elijah in the perfect place.

She pressed the end of her gun against the base of his skull, feeling the body tense. "Did you know it's more effective to shoot someone through the brainstem?" she whispered, eyes meeting Dean's wide ones. He shook his head, almost imperceptible, and she ignored him. "Drop your gun."

Elijah twisted, smashing his elbow into her face, and she heard the gun clatter against the wooden floors. He kicked her, hard against her ribs, and she let out a strangled cry, her hands searching furiously for the gun. "You should have just stayed upstairs, girl. I only wanted Dean. You will be collateral damage."

She gasped, eyes opening wide, focusing on the gun waving in her face.

"No!" Dean yelled, rushing forward to tackle Elijah, much like he had homecoming night. Except, this time, Elijah had a gun. This time, he fired the gun as Dean smashed into him, sending both bodies tripping over Jo.

Another gun shot rang in the air.

Jo let out a breath, twisting to look at the tangle of bodies beside her. Elijah laid on top of Dean, covering him, and neither of them were moving.

"Dean!" she called, pushing herself up, clutching one arm pressed against her ribs as she crawled to the prone bodies. She debated a moment before pushing Elijah; he didn't move. She tried again, tears streaming down her face as she pushed again.

He moved.

But it wasn't her that did it, it was Dean, with his hurt arm and blood running and heart racing. Dean moved the body, letting out a breath as he dropped the gun Jo had brought down, his hand trembling. "Dean?" she whispered, and he turned his head to look at her. "You're bleeding."

"The bullet grazed me," he answered in a shaky voice, looking to his bloody shoulder. "John is coming home-"

The door opened at that moment, and he groaned, resting his head back on the floor. "Don't let them walk in here, Jo. Tell them before John gets in here."

She nodded, pushing up and racing to the door, blocking John and Mary's entrance.

"Jo? What's wrong?" John asked, his voice weak, eyes full of concern as he tried to look past her.

"Elijah."

-/-

The police were quick, the crime scene investigators quicker. They came and went within the afternoon, taking Dean's statement, Jo's statement, the guns, the body. The EMTs bandaged Dean's arm—he was right, it was just a graze, not even a deep one at that—and left him in Mary's capable hands.

She smiled softly at Dean as she came to sit beside him, patting his knee. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I think the question should be is John okay? This is probably not what he should see on his first day back home."

"I think it would have been worse had he come home to find his son missing, Dean. I'd rather have a dead body here than a missing you."

"When I first saw him, all I could think about was you and John coming home when he was in the middle of murdering me. I didn't want John to see that, not with his heart-"

"My heart wouldn't have survived you not being there," John replied, making his way to them, a cup of water in his hand. "How did she know about the gun, Dean? How did Jo know-"

"I showed her one day. She must've remembered it," Dean replied. "But it's over now. Elijah is dead. My father's in prison. That life…the last reminder of my old life is gone."

Relief. He felt relief.

It was over.

_ Finally_.

**Author's Note: ** Like I said, very, very, very fast paced, but I wanted to get Elijah "out of the way" before the last few chapters. Please review!


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Together

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.N. Brown

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: So, this story will be ending soon. I'm not sure when, but I'm hoping to write all the remaining chapters in the next two or three weeks because I go on spring break next week, and after that, I have a major paper and presentation due for my capstone course and will not (or at least, should not) be concentrating on anything but that to make sure I get an A.

ANYWAYS, this chapter jumps a year in time.

Thank you for all your kind reviews!

**Sixteen: Together**

Dean stared at the poster taped onto a column in the cafeteria, feeling Chris' eyes on him. "Prom?"

"Yeah, Dean. It's that thing we do as juniors—we got to prom."

The sixteen-year-old glanced back at his friend, eyebrows furrowing. "Prom?"

"You ask a girl, it's kinda like homecoming but fancier; it tends to be fun. I assumed you were going to go with Jo, and that we'd rent a limo and go to dinner and have a great time." When Dean looked back to him, he shrugged. "Or not?"

"Ask Jo?"

"C'mon, Dean; we all see the way you look at her. I know your past isn't exactly….I know it's been rough, but you've been with the Winchesters for almost two years. You're a junior. You can be normal, have a girlfriend, have Jo—"

"So I'm supposed to ask her?"

"You really have _no_ clue, do you?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes on Jo as she entered the cafeteria. She stopped by some guy—some guy he didn't know—and he watched as the guy touched her upper arm as he asked her something. _To prom?_ he wondered, and he was surprised at the ache of jealousy that flared within him. "I think I want to ask her," he commented as Jo shook her head at the kid, eyes searching the crowd, landing on Dean.

She smiled.

For the past couple of months—since Dean's sixteenth birthday party, really—they had been doing this…awkward dance around one another. They were still best friends, and they still talked to one another about _anything_ (this year had involved much more Jo drama than Dean drama, which surprised him), but his feeling were manifesting into something different. He imagined kissing her, imagined if he had let that kiss years ago progress further than it did. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to take her to fancy restaurants and movies and shower her in gifts. He wanted to walk down the halls with her hand-in-hand.

He wanted to call her his girlfriend.

"Dean?" Jo said, sliding up beside him, pressing her hand on his wrist. "You okay?"

"Just thinking," he answered, nodding to the poster. "Do you want to go to prom with me?"

"Um…sure, yeah. Are you serious?"

"I'm serious enough to ask," he answered, trying to ignore how Chris was trying his hardest not to last. "Chris and I were talking about dinner, splitting for a limo-"

"I don't know. I kinda like your Impala."

He smiled as he lowered his eyes. "So yeah? You'll go with me? Get all dolled up, in a fancy dress, with a fancy dinner?"

"I'd really like to."

And that was how Dean Winchester ended up going to prom.

-/-

Mary was surprised when Dean told her he was going to need a tuxedo because he was going to prom. With Jo Harvell. But she simply nodded and smiled, took him to get measured for a tuxedo, helped him pick out a corsage ("all she'll tell me about the dress is that it's black and white; what does that even _mean_?" he had asked when they finally picked out a corsage with a white lily). With no questions, she helped make dinner reservations, limo reservations (Dean _really_ wanted to take the Impala; she and John _really_ objected).

Her son was going to _prom_.

She smiled at him as he came down the stairs, nervously messing with the watch he had gotten for Christmas. "You look very handsome, Dean," she whispered as she reached out to fix his tie.

"Jo will be here soon," he said nervously, rolling his shoulders as straightened his jacket. "I'm nervous as-" he stopped himself from saying _hell_, blushing. "It's going to be interesting tonight."

"Well, well, well, you clean up well," John said as he came into the room, wiping the oil off his hands. "Let me get cleaned up so we can take photos with just you before Jo gets here."

"John, we don't have to take-"

"Oh, yes we do," Mary interrupted, kissing his cheek. "You look adorable, you are going to a dance, and we have to take pictures, just like we have to take pictures of you and Jo and you guys and Chris and his date—this is a night to be remembered, Dean."

Dean couldn't help but smile, nodding. "Only a few."

"Agreed."

In truth, Mary and John wanted more pictures of Dean because they could both tell they had more of Sam throughout the house than they did of Dean. Pictures of Sam as a baby, pictures of Sam during soccer, pictures from various Christmases, school photos. The few they had of Dean were memorable events—his first Christmas at their house, the adoption hearing, his first game, a photo of him and John from the first game John was able to attend after being shot, a photo from the state playoffs from that year, of Dean sliding arm first into home, taken by a professional for the newspaper. They had more of Dean and Sam together, and those were up, on the walls, on various tables, but Mary still felt that they had very few with Dean.

"I expect you to smile," she told Dean as she wrapped her arm around his waist, leaning in as the self-timer went off and the camera flashed. The next photo, John was there, his arm wrapped around Dean's shoulder. In the next, it was Dean and Sam, grinning stupidly at one another at one of Sam's smart-ass jokes.

And then the doorbell rang.

Dean reached it before anyone else, unlocking the door and opening it.

Jo took his breath away. She was wearing a black and white printed ball gown. She wore the necklace he gave her for Christmas, simple diamond studs, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "Wow," he whispered, smiling at her. "You look beautiful, Jo."

"Thank you. You're pretty handsome yourself," she complimented him. They stood there awkwardly for a few moments. "Well, are you going to let me in?"

"Yeah! Of course, come in Jo." He stepped aside, holding the door open for her. She hugged Mary tight, smiling brightly when Mary complimented her on her dress. "Is Ellen coming?"

"Yeah, she's on her way," Jo answered, tossing her clutch to the couch. "I cannot believe you talked me into doing this, Dean."

"Why? You look gorgeous."

"Yeah, but we actually have to dance in front of people. You remember that part, right?"

"We did it at homecoming last year."

Jo rolled her eyes, pressing her hand against his forearm much like Mary had done earlier. She smiled widely at John as he hugged her, commenting on something Sam said as they waited for her mom. When Ellen finally came in, it was pictures by the fireplace, Dean's arm wrapped around her waist, a picture of them pulled close together, their forehead's almost touching.

When Chris and his date arrived, there were more photos, and finally they all climbed into the limo. "I never thought my parents would be done with the photos!" Dean complained, handing Jo a bottle of water. "Did you like the corsage?"

Jo looked down at the pretty flower, fingers rubbing against the ribbon. "You did a great job, Dean. It's beautiful."

She glanced at him, and for a moment—just a second—he thought maybe she was harboring feelings for him, too.

-/-

"Well, at least the decorations are better than homecoming was?" Jo offered as they stepped into the reception area of the hotel, hand in hand. The DJ was blasting some popular song, and there were already people dancing.

"Wow, Jo, look at you!" a brunette girl exclaimed, and Dean's eyebrows rose, confused. "You look so pretty! Why don't you normally look pretty like this?"

Dean coughed, feeling Jo squeeze his hand tight. "Don't listen to her," he whispered in her ear, his lips so close to her skin that his breath warmed her neck. "You're always beautiful."

Now it was her time to be confused. She glanced at him as he pulled away from her, retreating to get them drinks. She turned back to the brunette, giving her a tight smile. "You look pretty too, Rebecca."

"Don't I, though? It's not like I'm going to stay in this; Kent and I have a hotel room for tonight. His older brother rented it for us. What about you? Are you going to shack up with Tall, Dark and Broody?"

"Dean? You think I'm going to have _sex_ with Dean? We're not even dating!"

"Really? I thought you were. You two totally give off that vibe."

"What vibe?" Dean interrupted, handing Jo her drink, arm wrapping around her waist again. "Jo? What vibe?"

"Nothing, Dean," she said hastily, sipping on her Sprite for a moment before deciding she wanted to dance. Dean let her lead the way to the floor as a slow song started. "Thanks for asking me, by the way. To prom. You could go with any girl in the school, and yet you asked me."

"You were the only one I wanted to ask, Jo. Chris talked about prom, and you are the only one I would've gone with."

"Yeah?"

He nodded, breathing in when she leaned her head against his shoulder, spinning them as the song continued. "Who else would I want to go with, Jo?"

The song ended, and Jo pulled away from Dean, looking down at the floor. "That was…nice," she mumbled, and he nodded, reaching his fingers out to caress her jaw, pushing her head up.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked as she lowered her eyes, shaking her head. "Are you not having a good time? Because we don't have to stay. We-"

"I'm having a great time, Dean. I just…you look at me like you're looking at me right now, and all I want to do is kiss you again."

His hand dropped, and his eyes widened. "What if I said I wanted you to kiss me, Jo?"

"Huh?"

"And that I wanted to take you on a date. And that I want to walk down the halls of school hand-in-hand. And that I want us to get through this awkward phase that has been plaguing us. And I want to kiss you, too. I want you to be my girlfriend, I want you to be there cheering me on at games. I want to go to college where you go to college because I don't want to be without you. I want you to kiss me, mostly because I want to kiss you back."

She smiled, wiping away the few tears that had managed to trail down her cheeks. "I think I'm ruining my makeup."

"You're still beautiful."

She kissed him softly, just the press of her lips against his, pulling back only seconds later. He shook his head, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her close again, kissing her again. This time, her arms twisted around his shoulders, tightening in his jacket, passion sparking in the kiss. One hand drifted up from her waist to her jaw. She gasped into the kiss, and he smiled, biting her bottom lip softly as she ended the kiss, pressing her forehead against his. "Oh, wow," he heard her murmur. "Are you sure you haven't been kissing other girls?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "I'm pretty certain I haven't."

They jumped apart slightly when they heard someone clapping beside them. Dean turned his head to glare at Chris, who had some silly grin on his face like he was some proud father. "Finally!" he exclaimed, clapping Dean on the back. "I have _never_ had such a problem getting two people together who actually like one another."

"Way to ruin the moment, Christopher," Jo snapped, pulling away from Dean, punching the other boy in the arm. "God!"

She stalked off the dance floor to the balcony, and Dean watched her go. "Way to go, Chris, way. to. go."

"Hey, you should be thanking me. If it wasn't for me, you would never have asked her, you wouldn't be here at prom with her, and you sure as hell wouldn't have kissed her without a little kick in the butt."

"I would have found my way. Eventually."

"When you were seniors in college, maybe? Possibly later?"

"God, you just have no tact. _None_," Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to go chase after her now, and you are going to stay here and not interfere anymore."

With that final statement, he turned on his heel and headed towards Jo, who he could see on the balcony, hands pressed against the edge of the balcony's railing. "He's such an idiot sometimes. He doesn't think, I swear," he started, watching her shoulders tense. "Jo, he doesn't—he means the best, I promise."

"I'm just embarrassed, Dean. I'll get over it."

Dean kissed her shoulder, pressing his forehead against the same smooth expanse of skin. She turned, her back pressing against the railing as she looked at him. "I talked to him. He won't-"

"He's just Chris, Dean. He's annoying; he's nothing bad."

Dean stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist. "He thinks he's the one that got us together."

"He's an idiot." Dean grinned, kissing her cheek. "You keep kissing me."

"I can't help it," he whispered, "I've wanted to for so long, and then…now I don't want to stop."

-/-

"So, here we are," Dean whispered as they stood at her door at the end of the night, both well aware of the light on in the living room, both aware that her mom was probably waiting for her, knew that they were at the door. "At your house."

"We're here. At my house." She glanced to the light in the window, frowning slightly. She focused her attention on Dean, though, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close and _kissed_ her. She gasped into his mouth when his tongue touched hers'. It was as if that movement brought them closer, and she was pressed against the door as one hand tightened around her waist and the other plunged into her hair, loosening it in the ponytail.

They jumped apart as the door opened, Ellen standing there with a raised eyebrow."I think it's time you come in, Jo," she said, eyes never leaving Dean. "I think it's time you go, Dean."

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned shyly at Jo, squeezing her hand and leaning in to give her a kiss on the side of her mouth. "I'll call you tomorrow, Jo. I had a great time."

"Me too. Night, Dean," Jo whispered, following her mother into the house.

The Winchester's house was also dark save a light in the living room, and Dean took a breath before opening the door. He pulled off his jacket as he kicked his shoes off, grinning at Mary, joining her in the living room. "How was the dance?" she asked him, marking the spot in her book.

"Good. It was fun. We…we had a good time."

"Oh?"

"I kissed Jo. Well, she kissed me first, but then I kissed her back."

Mary blinked, but didn't say anything as he leaned his head on her shoulder. "Is it something you've wanted to do?"

"Yeah, it is. I really like her, Mary. And I'm ready for…for normal teenage stuff."

He had spent much of the past two years getting there, he realized. A year ago, he wouldn't have been there; he wouldn't be ready. The Winchesters had helped him heal. He was ready for normal teenage stuff because they had made sure his life was _normal_, that he only dealt with the _normal_ teenage stuff. His past was nothing but that: the past, ready to be filed away and if not forgotten, shoved aside for his new beginning.

"I love that you're finally progressing to normal teenage stuff too, Dean, though you do realize dating has some…restrictions on it, right?"

"Can we talk about them later? Because it's midnight, and I'm really tired," Dean whispered, going to stand up. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes, Dean, my little lecture can wait. I'm glad you had a great time, baby," she answered, taking his hand as she stood, kissing his forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Mary. I love you."

Her smile widened; Dean had never really said those three words to her or John before. "I love you too, Dean. Sweet dreams."

Dean waved as he trudged upstairs, his tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder. Mary watched him go before turning out the lights in the living room and going into the master suite, where John sat, working on some files. "How was it? Did he have a good time?" he asked his wife eagerly as she climbed into their bed.

"I think he had a wonderful time. He and Jo kissed."

"Oh, wow. I'm glad they've finally stopped dancing around one another."

"I told him we'd talk about it tomorrow, because I think he's drained from tonight. He looked tired, anyway."

"I bet he is, if they were dancing all night long," John commented. "Go to sleep, Mary. You eldest is back home, safe. You can finally relax, take a breath."

"Stop teasing me, John Winchester. You were just as worried as I was."

"I wanted him to have a good time, because, frankly, he is one of the most serious human being's I know. I wanted him to relax, to let loose—and it sounds like he's done that. You were worried for other reasons."

"Yeah well now we get to be normal parents and worry about what sixteen-year-old boys do with their girlfriends."

John's grin dropped, and Mary smirked, kissing his cheek. "Good night, dear husband."

She turned away from him, her smirk staying until she fell asleep, listening to him sputter out a reply.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: End

**Title**: Family

**Author:** S.N. Brown

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (sad, but true), as I am a poor college student who barely makes enough to feed herself and her pretty little dog.

**Author's Notes**: Gosh, it's short. But, here we are: chapter seventeen. We are coming to the end (only the epilogue left). This was supposed to be up on Tuesday, but ff was not having it.

Please review!

**Seventeen: End**

Jo woke to the sound of a cat's meow. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision of her blurry grogginess from waking at an early hour—two fifty-four, if she believed the digital clock on the nightstand. She noticed two things almost immediately: the other side of the bed—Dean's side—was empty and cool, as if he hadn't been there for awhile, and the bedroom door was open and light drifted in through the small hallway. She climbed out of the bed, wincing at the coldness of the floors on her feet, and made her way to the living room as the cat meowed again.

"Sssh, Oreo," Dean whispered, though she knew that he was petting the pretty black and white animal they had picked up from the shelter nearly a month before. The cat meowed again. "I warned you. When your mommy comes out here all grumpy because you woke her up, I'm feigning sleep."

Jo smiled, stepping into the living room. Dean was on the couch, his back to her. She watched the muscles in his back tense, bunch, and relax, a fluid motion under his tan skin. The white scars inflicted so long ago stood out in stark contrast from the tan, but his most recent scar was puffy and red and so close in memory. It was the scar that signaled the end to Dean's baseball career, and one he hated so.

It had happened last April, the end of their junior year, at a game both she and the other Winchesters attended. Dean had turned to get popped-up foul ball (or whatever), not realizing the bat had splintered. The bat smacked into Dean's shoulder, and then he fell backwards, his arm twisting and he landed on it, cracking his shoulder near the socket. It had required surgery, and physical therapy, and Dean had lost his scholarship and it had…it had nearly ended them.

But Jo pushed those bad memories to the back of her head as she walked to the front of the couch and sit by Dean, scaring off Oreo. "What are you doing up so early?" she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I was just thinking."

"Thinking?" she repeated, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"About us."

"What about us?"

"About all we've been through…about all I put you through. Especially with-" he shrugged his shoulder, and she rolled her eyes, kissing his arm. "If you weren't as strong as you are—and if we weren't as strong as _we_ are—we would have broken up."

"But we didn't, Dean."

"Exactly. I keep thinking…thinking about how much you mean to me. About how devastated I'd be if something happened to us."

"But nothing's going to happen, Dean."

"I know. But I—in high school, I don't think people would believe that here we are, four years later, still going strong. We were best friends, and I think people expected us to not last as anything but. But I keep thinking about how much I love you, about how lost I'd be without you—they're wrong. I couldn't do this without you, and I couldn't be who I am without you. When I got hurt, _you_ were the one who pulled me back in, the anchor in my storm."

"I love you, too," she interrupted him, and he grinned at her, leaning in to kiss her. "But you are scaring me, Dean. Why all this talk of love and the past?"

He didn't answer, reaching forward to scratch the cat underneath her chin. "I just-I've got that big interview next week, you know? And what happens if I get it and we have to move? You won't be done with school and I won't let you not graduate-"

"My place is with you, Dean, no matter if that's here or in Texas or wherever. We'll see my dreams through, but we'll be together, even if that means I need to transfer."

Dean nodded, biting his lip hard for a few seconds, staring at the television again.

"Did I mention before how much you're scaring me?" Jo repeated, and Dean turned his head to look at her, eyes wide. "Dean-"

He leaned forward to kiss her, his hand resting against her cheek, fingers curling in her hair just barely. She gasped, her nails pressing in his upper arm before her hand relaxed, she relaxed, pulling him on top of her as she stretched out on the couch, the cat meowing in protest when she pushed her off. Dean pulled away from her, eyes clouded and—scared.

"What's wrong?" she murmured, sitting up beneath him, worried. "You've been—"

"Will you marry me?"

He had a box, a black, velvet box that rested in the palm of one hand, opened, a single diamond glittering down at her. "Wh-"

"Will you marry me, Jo?"

She pushed away from Dean, her back pressing into the arm of the couch. "That's an engagement ring, Dean."

"Yes it is."

"As in marriage."

"Yes, as in marriage."

"As in us marrying."

"Yes, as in us marrying."

"As in-"

Dean cut her off with a kiss, grinning when he pulled away. "Now that I have your attention: I've been distracted tonight, and it's been because I've been thinking about the perfect way to propose to you. I've been thinking about how to tell you I want to be with you forever because that just doesn't seem like long enough. I wanted to be romantic. I wanted it to be everything _you_ wanted in a proposal, and all I've managed to do was give you some crappy weirdness at three o'clock in the morning."

"But crappy weirdness at three o'clock in the morning? Totally worth it, Dean. Yes, I'll marry you."

His grin turned into a genuine smile, and he pulled the ring from its case, slipping it on her ring finger with care. "I hope you realize that this means you are going to be with me to your dying day," Jo finally broke out, and Dean chuckled.

"It can't be any worse than being stuck with me to your own dying day."

"And I hope you realize that I'm gonna want my wedding to be simple."

"As if I'd have it any other way."

"And that I'm going to have my happily ever after with you no matter what. You asked me to marry you. You're totally stuck with me now."

And all he did was grin.

-/-

Mary sat in front of Dean and Jo at the restaurant, mouth wide. "I….I make _one_ comment about the fact that I _know_ you two are sleeping together, what with the one bedroom and all, and you decide to take that as _we're getting married_?" she teased gently, looking at the ring Jo was sporting. "When did you pick that out?"

"Three months ago," Dean answered. "When Sam came up. He and Chris came with me and helped me pick it out."

"It's beautiful, sweetheart. I'm surprised though—usually, these are the things you just blab out to me without meaning too."

"I blab out a lot without meaning to," Dean replied. "But this couldn't be told. If I told you, I knew you'd probably tell John, who would probably tell Ellen, and then there'd be that off chance she'd tell Jo. And you know, I kinda needed to keep this quiet. So as not to ruin the surprise."

John joined them, finally, sliding in beside Mary. "Sorry. Couldn't find a place to park."

"Or you wanted to give Mary some time to talk to us about the engagement. Whichever," Dean answered with a smirk, moving out of the way when John reached over to smack him in the back of his head. "Hey, newly engaged person here!"

"She could find another," John quipped, grinning at Jo. "Congratulations, honey. Again, are you sure you couldn't do better?"

Jo smiled, leaning in to kiss Dean's cheek. "I don't think I could. Dean's pretty amazing."

"That he is," John murmured, smiling at his son. "Congratulations to you, too, son. I'm so happy for both of you."

It was later; Mary and Jo were shopping, and John was handing Dean a beer as they watched the game. "So, what do you think? I-" Dean started, clearly nervous. John shook his head, smiling at his son. "John?"

"It was a beautiful ring, from what I can tell you proposed in a meaningful way that she will never forget, and you chose one hell of a girl to get engaged to. I think…that it's a hard choice saying which moment makes me proudest, between now and when you graduated high school, when you pulled yourself up from your accident, or when you walked through the front door that first day…I'm so proud of you. For everything."

"You don't think we're making a mistake, that we're too young or our lives aren't settled-"

"I think you two both no what you're doing; I think you've probably thought about it for awhile. If you're ready, then I don't think you're jumping into anything."

"I look at her sometimes, mostly when she's sleeping and I'm still up, studying, and I think about what our children will look like, if they'll have her hair, my eyes, her eyes. And I think about how I'm going to be one of the first people they see, and I will let those tiny fingers wrap around mine, and how I'm going to be better than my father. But I see _children_ with her. I see my future with her, and I can't imagine life without Jo."

"You know, your kids are going to be lucky to have a father like you, whenever you and Jo decide to start a family." John stopped taking, petting Oreo again. "That's not to say you need to have a family now. Most definitely after you get a job, and you know, maybe get married. And maybe Jo graduates. And gets a job."

Dean smirked, glancing at John out of the corner of his eyes. "I promise, no kids before I'm twenty-five. At least."

"When are you flying out for the interview?"

"Tuesday. I'll be back on Thursday. Thanks, for paying for the ticket."

"This is a good opportunity for you, Dean. You've worked really hard; you deserve to reap the benefits." It was an opportunity to work with a speech pathologist, to gain experience in the field and to work with one of the best in the country.

"One of the kids at the center-" Dean worked part time at a center for children from single-parent homes while their parents worked-"went to this pathologist; all his mom does is sing her praises. She works all day, John, from seven until six, but she still wrote me a kickass recommendation."

"You're going to miss here? Your job?"

"I am." Dean murmured, looking around the room. "But, this is the opportunity for me to really help, and I can't leave that behind because I don't want to leave here."

"You've grown up to be a great man, Dean, did you know that?"

"I do try. But I wouldn't be like this if it wasn't for you and for Mary. I would probably be dead, be forgotten, if it wasn't for you two."

**End.**


End file.
